


Ties that Bind

by Evilpixie



Series: DC Omegaverse [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Dominant Bottom, Dominant Omega, Drama, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Drama, Friendship/Love, Jealousy, Knotting, Love Triangles, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pack Dynamics, Rimming, Sex Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 56,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilpixie/pseuds/Evilpixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Bruce is an omega and Clark his alpha. But they both have duties of their own and more to lose in the wake of their new found relationship than either ever thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Ties that Bind-束缚之结](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5661229) by [Forth_East](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forth_East/pseuds/Forth_East)



> This story is set in the 'Omega Verse'. If you are unfamiliar with the concept please have a quick peek at [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/403644/chapters/665489) prior to reading. It really set me straight in terms of this whole thing. Also note that I have taken a few liberties with the trope. If you have any questions please don't hesitate to throw them my way.
> 
> Also, this story is a sequel to a previous story but I have tried to write it so it's assessable to new readers as well. Hopefully it's not too annoying to anyone returning after 'In the Dark'.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Kent?!”

 

The mobile in his pocket was vibrating in angry urgent fits, the phone on his desk had just joined in with a shrill rattling ring, and the Justice League communicator was bleeping with an ugly insistency in his ear.

 

“I-I’m sorry Mr White I…”

 

“Until this edition has gone to print _no one_ is leaving this building,” the man declared as he pinned him with a vicious glare. “That includes your lazy arse, Kent. So sit back down, fix page eight, and answer your damn phone.”

 

“You don’t understand sir my mate is…”

 

“I don’t give a damn about your mate!”

 

“But Mr White…”

 

His eyes flashed a baneful black. “ _Sit down_.”

 

Clark staggered back into his seat and blinked up at his boss in defeat. “Please. My mate goes into heat today.”

 

“ _And_ if you’d submitted your damn paperwork I would have a substitute here to fix page eight,” Perry said, unimpressed. “But you haven’t, so I don’t, so that mate of yours is just going to have to wait until those printing presses starting singing. Now fix page eight by the end of the hour or your arse is back onto the weekly collum.”

 

“But…”

 

“By the end of the hour, Kent!”

 

Clark stared as the other man turned his heel and stormed across the office with the force of a hurricane as he barked orders to the rush to panicked staff.

 

The phone in his pocket stopped for a few fleeting moments of respite before it started again. He tried not to think about the hours that had already passed since he had first received the summon. He’d told him half an hour at the most. _Half an hour_. He hadn’t planned on the disaster the Daily Planet’s new computers would cause trying to get the pages ready for print.

 

“Is it really your mate or is London Bridge falling down?”

 

He turned.

 

Lois sat at her desk behind the broad screen of one of the offending computers and tapped irritably at the touch screen. Her jacket hung from the chair behind her, hair tumbled out of a messy bun to curl around her face, and shoes sat on a pile of papers on the desk beside her.

 

“My mate,” he answered miserably.

 

She cocked an eyebrow. “Then I’m not saving your arse, Smallville. This damned new system is horrid enough as it is without having to do your work as well as mine.”

 

“I know.”

 

She frowned. “You seriously still haven’t brought in a doctor’s certificate for your omega? That’s…”

 

“I know!”

 

He turned to his own computer and tried to ignore the multitude of contact lines vying for his attention and the niggling urgent ache deep inside him that tugged at his alpha instincts. He wanted to howl, to rip apart the blasted building, and fly across the states to find the man who even now would be waiting for him. Bruce Wayne. The most beautiful brilliant man he had ever met. The most bewitching bewildering omega ever to seize him in a hungry kiss. The only one to ever lay claim to him, to take him, and possess him with all the authority of an alpha. And to allow him to take him in return. Through some sweet accident of fate Bruce was his mate… and Bruce needed him.

 

“I can _feel_ what you’re thinking,” Lois accused. “If you walk out of here you’ll regret it.”

 

Clark raked his hand through his hair. “He needs me.”

 

The woman sighed in exasperation. “I’m sure he does, Clark. But so does this newspaper and you’re skating on thin ice as it is.”

 

He glanced at Perry and back at the door.

 

“Your mate will survive another hour,” she insisted. “Your payroll might not.”

 

It was a real threat and one he couldn’t ignore. Despite his newfound relationship with Bruce he couldn’t afford a slimmer pay check. Not since the last economic downturn.

 

“It’s just one page,” he muttered hopelessly.

 

“So _do it_!”

 

He turned back to the screen before him and began bumbling through the unfamiliar layout. He managed to title each article, slot in one of Jimmy’s photos, and warp an ad for glasses into the bottom left hand corner. When it didn’t fit he remorselessly docked a paragraph from the centre article and somehow managed to configure the new computer to move the file into the system drop box. By the time he had finished Perry had deposited four more pages into his inbox one of which was still missing an article.

 

The phone on his desk had lapsed into merciful silence but the one in his pocket was still buzzing aggressively against his leg.

 

“I have to go,” he groaned.

 

“This thing is still only half ready for print,” Lois reminded him as she submitted her own collection of completed pages. “I know you have other things on, Smallville, I get it. But this is going to kill us if we don’t get it in on time.”

 

“I can’t wait Lois I…” he trailed off as he heard it.

 

She studied him for a moment and groaned. “It’s London Bridge isn’t it?”

 

“An explosion in a building in Dubai,” he muttered in disbelief.

 

He could hear the screams, the shrill sound of steel giving way under the weight of falling concrete, and the clear commands of the servicemen spoken in sharp Arabic as they rushed towards the scene.

 

“I need to go,” he pleaded.

 

Lois swore. “I swear, Smallville, if you’re making this up I will finish you.”

 

“No! It’s… God, why today? I need to go.”

 

Lois glared at him.

 

“I’m sorry I…”

 

“You _so_ owe me for this one.”

 

He felt his lips twitch towards a grateful smile as he sent the uncompleted pages to her, abandoned his jacket, and bolted through the gilded doorway to escape up the elevator shaft before Perry could catch wind of his departure. As he stripped off his work clothes he retrieved the phone and finally answered the call.

 

“I’ve got to go to Dubai, Bruce. I’ll be there in less than half an hour and I mean it this time. I promise.”

 

“He’s out of his nest, arsehole.”

 

Clark felt something inside him twist. “Jason,” he rasped. “What are you doing with Bruce’s phone?”

 

Low. “Calling you.”

 

Clark ignored the challenging growl as his mind reeled back the conversation. “He’s out of his nest?” He said in disbelief. “He’s in heat. Why would he come out of his nest?”

 

“Why do you think he is out of his nest, idiot?”

 

Just before going into heat an omega would designate a nest; a small sealable place with ample resources where they could safely retreat to during the next few days. Once in heat it was very hard for an omega to leave their nest. They usually only did so if driven to by danger or if they urgently needed something.

 

The connection distorted and crackled as he heard a crash as a door was flung open to smash against the wall. Bruce’s voice amplified from the speaker against his ear.

 

“Where the fuck is my alpha?!”

 

“Dubai!” Jason yelled back. “Pulling a god damned cat from…. oh fuck.” Jason coughed. “He’s scenting you idiots. Get him out of here.”

 

Jason was an unclaimed alpha with enough hormones in his blood to be classed as a high level. Of the three sexual castes – alpha, beta, and omega – alphas were typically the most aggressive and armed with a sense of smell second only to that of the omegas. Within each caste there was a simple ranking – high, mid, and low – that was based off the blood born hormones of the individual. While Clark was also an alpha he couldn’t claim to have the same imposing hormone count as the younger male. Some primeval part of him hated that.

 

“Don’t you go near him,” Clark heard himself husk.

 

“Yeah right,” Jason sneered. “He’s already millimetres away from hitting the old man and the kid. If you think he’s going to let a stray alpha near him you’ve got another thing coming.”

 

Clark wasn’t sure if Jason was goading him, subtly implying his weakness as an alpha by pretending to be intimidated more by his omega than him, or if he was finally developing some grudging respect for his unconventional pack leader.

 

He bit the inside of his cheek and took off. “Get him back into his nest. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 

“I’m not sticking around, freak. If you want him in his nest you come and put him there.”

 

Clark blinked as Jason cut the line, swore, and slipped the phone into the pocket in his cape.

 

It took just under twenty seven minutes to evacuate and stabilise the offending building, take apart the malfunctioning construction robot that had caused the damage, and escape the thankful throng of people to fly back across the sea towards Wayne Manor. In that time the anxious twinge inside him managed to fester into a putrid pool of agonised tension.

 

Bruce was in heat and outside his nest.

 

His mate was _in heat_. He was exposed, vulnerable, _in heat_ and Clark _wasn’t there_. The knowledge was… agony.

 

Clark burst in the kitchen door and was immediately hit by the unmistakable musk of his mate. Bruce’s scent hung in the air like the stray ends of wool tumbling from the ball; wispy and frayed but growing stronger the closer he came to the source. He followed the pheromone trail out of the empty room and into the hallway beyond. As he did so the omega’s allure built rapidly until he felt like he was walking in the middle of a river; all the currents hauling him forward in a vicious siren call that knotted deep in his stomach and left him feeling both heavy and light headed.

 

He walked into the study, pushed aside a bookcase hanging ajar from the wall, and floated down a haunting spiral of stairs towards the batcave like a rollercoaster car locked onto predetermined tracks. He followed the scent down the seemingly endless hallway until it hung so thick he could taste it; until he was sure he would find Bruce at any moment.

 

He met Alfred first.

 

The butler paused on his way up and looked at him in obvious relief.

 

“Bruce?” Clark said softly, breathlessly.

 

“The master is just around the corner, Mr Kent.” Alfred said reassuringly. “He’s waiting for you.”

 

Clark swallowed and nodded, suddenly terrified of what he would find as he descended the last twist in the spiralling staircase. Alfred smiled and continued up towards the manor; leaving him to his mate.

 

Before he could sail onward he was stopped by a sharp tug at his cape.

 

He turned to blink at the blue eyed boy standing on the step behind him.

 

“Wha-?"

 

“He’s hydrated; thirty three ounces of water, fed; one thousand calories, and we gave him some low grade suppressants an hour ago; five hundred milligrams of O-12. It didn’t break his heat but it brought him down a little. Last we managed to check his temperate was twenty minutes ago. He was one hundred and two degrees Fahrenheit.”

 

Clark stared at him in shock.

 

Tim was the newest member of Bruce’s pack having arrived on the doorstep a few months previously armed with the knowledge of the family’s vigilante personas and a stubborn insistence that Batman needed a new partner in the wake of Nightwing’s departure. He was thirteen, tall and lanky, but yet to develop the distinguishable adult aroma that would define his caste. His scent was that of a child; as simply unthreatening as the mid level beta now smiling apologetically over his shoulder.

 

“Mr Kent will take care of him, young master,” Alfred said patiently. “It’s best to leave him to it.”

 

Tim frowned. “I know but…”

 

“He knows what to do,” the butler said sagely and placed a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And, if I am not mistaken, you have homework to complete.”

 

“I…”

 

“And a case file that Master Bruce will need someone to look at.”

 

Tim pouted but didn’t object as he was towed up the stairs. The two closed the bookcase behind them as they left. It locked with a definitive doable click.

 

Clark stared after them with a strange mix of appreciation and apprehension. The air swirled provocatively around him; threatening to destroy his fragile composure, to reduce him to a primal savage state, with each stolen breath. Thick with the very omega pheromones, mixed with Bruce’s unique scent, that had held him enthralled for months now.

 

Clark took a measured breath, steadied himself, and drifted down the steps towards the deadly allure of his mate.

 

He found him moments later.

 

As Clark rounded the corner he felt the fresh pheromones hit him like a wall of cement. He was immediately disarmed by the dark dense _draw_ of the other man. Scent poured from Bruce’s body in dizzying waves; savagely signalling the readiness of his body. It wasn’t beautiful. It was primal, primitive, and all the more powerful for it.

 

Bruce sat on the stairs. His back was to the wall, legs sprawled welcomely wide, and the heels of both palms pressed against his forehead. His skin was flushed, spotted with sweat, and under the sharp shape of his jawbone his omega gland was swollen red under the fading bite mark of their last night together. Each breath was deliberately slow and measured; meditative.

 

Despite his ragged appearance he was as unfathomably breathtaking as he always was.

 

Something hot and heavy uncurled inside him; a primordial response to his mate’s heat that sent ribbons of scorching blood rushing to his groin, brought a flush of alpha flavoured saliva to his lips, and dragged a horse groan from the back of his throat.

 

Bruce stiffened, turned his head to smell the air, and slowly lowered his hands to blink at him though the dimness of the corridor. Steel blue eyes shone with feverish light around gaping black pupils.

 

“Clark.”

 

“Bruce…”

 

“You’re late,” he hissed, lips peeling back to flash his teeth.

 

Clark flinched and tipped his head back submissively. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Four hours,” Bruce snarled, his voice a broken rasp. “ _Four_ hours.”

 

It was three hours and forty two minutes since Bruce called him first. Clark studied the other man, took note of his heat ravaged state, and decided it wasn’t a good time to bring up specifics. Instead he gathered himself and stepped slowly forward; desperately trying to ignore the rapidly mounting tightness between his legs and the mind altering swirl of sex spiced air.

 

“We need to get back to your nest,” he said.

 

Bruce glared at him and hugged his sides as his body shook through a fresh bout of need.

 

He took another step forward and when Bruce didn’t react knelt down to haul the man to his feet.

 

Instantly Bruce’s lips were against his; crushing, sweet, and feverishly warm. Clark groaned as the impossibly rich musk of the other man assaulted his senses. Disarmingly delicious and deep enough to drown in. Bruce pushed inside his mouth and tasted him in broad angry swipes of his tongue. Clark sucked greedily on the invasion and the omega rumbled his liking deep in the back of his throat.

 

Reasoning faded into a blitz of messy kisses, grappling hands, and bodies ground urgently together. The taste of Bruce’s skin consumed him until he couldn’t touch him enough, couldn’t kiss him enough, couldn’t…

 

“No!” He broke apart their lips with a straggled cry. “Not here.”

 

“Here,” Bruce snarled.

 

“No. Nest. Come on. I’ll fly you.”

 

Bruce growled and moved to reconnect their lips.

 

Clark turned away from the mind lulling taste of the other man’s skin and quickly gathered him up in a messy embrace. The omega tensed within the circle of his arms but mercifully didn’t struggle as they rose off the ground and flew down into the belly of the batcave.

 

Bruce usually nested in the back of the cave. There was a small Spartan bedroom cut into the stone and sealed behind a sturdy steel door. It came equipped with a computer, an attached bathroom, and a fridge filled with a utilitarian assortment of practical food. As they entered Bruce shuddered and wrestled out of his arms to quickly pace the outskirts of the room; instinctually reaffirming his territory.

 

“Hey I…”

 

“Bed,” the man growled.

 

Clark backed obediently onto the edge of the firm mattress, secretly thrilling at his mate’s natural assertive dominance.

 

Bruce paced a few more times, hugged his sides as he shuddered through the throes of his heat, and finally pulled his shirt over his head to throw it angrily aside.

 

“Four hours, Clark.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m so sorry I… God you’re beautiful.”

 

Bruce fumbled with the front of his pants. “What the hell were you doing?” He panted. “Who was it?”

 

Clark blinked. “You seriously think I was cheating on you?”

 

“The super villain,” he snapped. “Who?”

 

“Oh I…” Clark hesitated. “Do you really want to talk about that right now?”

 

Bruce yanked open his fly and kicked his pants off to reveal glittering wet thighs. “No,” he rasped.

 

Clark felt his desire knot into a hot mess of need as Bruce stepped forward; skin dripping with sex smelling sweat, muscles quivering in wanton anticipation, and eyes locked onto him with predatory intent. He was beautiful. Every facet of his being part of a complex weave - an impossible equation - that equalled the man he fell in love with. Dark, demanding, and as untameable as a storm.

 

An omega against every convention, expectation, and typecast… and all the more perfect for it.

 

Bruce straddled him, shoved aside his attempt at an embrace, and reached forward to tangle a fist in his hair and drag him into a possessive penetrative kiss. Clark moaned as Bruce tasted the inside of his mouth; crassly consuming the pent up alpha hormones in his saliva as their lips met with messy movement.

 

It couldn’t last long.

 

Bruce had been waiting too long - his body left unsated for too long - to linger on a kiss.

 

Their lips broke and Clark nipped under the other man’s jawbone – teasing the skin around his omega gland – as Bruce reached between their crushed groins to clumsily try to wrench open the front of Clark’s costume. When Clark moved to help Bruce pinned his wrists back into the mattress with a broken snarl.

 

The action sent a fresh flush of blood to the aching organ between his legs.

 

“I love you,” he heard his voice sound as if from a great distance. “So much. So so much.”

 

Huskily. “I know.”

 

Bruce’s scent was mounting; the low grade suppressants Tim had fed him giving out under the intensity of his heat like a dam under the weight of too much water. Clark sunk willingly into the depth of sex spiced pheromones; drinking in the delicious flavour pouring off his mate as Bruce finally worked the bottom half of his uniform low enough to release Clark’s length into his palm.

 

Being held so intimately yet with such blunt practical purpose felt irrationally disenabling; as if Bruce was crudely claiming him, dominating him, with an absurd but unquestioned physical authority. His fingers were strangely warm and slick but armed with the now familiar swell of calluses and scar tissue. Clark found himself tipping his head back, baring his throat, and rocking wilfully into Bruce’s grasp as he was pulled into alignment.

 

Clark hummed deep in the back of his throat as he felt the hot wet clench of the other man’s entrance grip and encircle him.

 

“God, Clark…” Bruce shivered. “I… fuck I…”

 

They drew together with a vulgar smack of slick coated skin.

 

Bruce flinched. “Fuck…”

 

“Okay?” Clark panted.

 

A stiff nod.

 

Clark found himself holding Bruce’s hips. When the contact wasn’t immediately rejected he gripped him tighter.

 

It wasn’t long before they were tumbling back into the mattress, rutting against each other, and grunting into open mouthed kisses. When Bruce came it was with a clench strong enough to pull Clark over the abyss after him. Pleasure rushed through him - assaulted him - until it was all he could do to close his eyes around the involuntary flush of heat vision and roll his hips into the warm welcoming body of his partner riding him down into the mattress. He felt the base of his cock swell as he spilt his load. Bruce took his knot with a broken groan and a shudder that suggested a second starved climax.

 

In that moment, gazing up at Bruce as they were tied together, he couldn’t conceive let alone comprehend why he hadn’t been at his side the moment his heat spiked. Why he hadn’t rushed to him the moment he called. Because in the wake of their shared pleasure nothing seemed important. Not writing, not work, and not even the world.

 

Bruce arched against him, tugging with a sting of pleasure at their tie, and tipping his head back; not far enough to truly assume a posture of submission but enough to expose the shape of his swollen omega gland on the side of his neck. It was an invitation Clark couldn’t refuse.

 

He leant forward and sank his teeth into his neck. The erotic promise of Bruce’s scent, as powerful as it was, couldn’t compare to his taste. Clark moaned, wrapped his arms around the other man, and drowned in a taste so dark, so delicious, and so dangerously addictive it _had_ to be illicit.

 

An alpha’s bite was the most powerful method of hormone exchange available to his caste; designed to allow an alpha to both ingest the bonding hormones of their omega and mark them as their mate. Bonding was a long process that could take up to a year and was only complete when both parties were addicted to each other. The mutual addiction meant an alpha and omega were more receptive to each other’s pheromone output and thus each others emotions and sexual state. Beyond this there was a host of medical advantages due to the enriching exchange of sexual hormones, an increased chance of pregnancy, and a greater sharing of pack bonds.

 

It was an emotional tether that many committed couples craved.

 

Clark was no exception.

 

Bruce shook him from his neck with a hungry growl and reclaimed his lips in a crushing kiss. Clark’s hands were shaking, his body thumbing with pleasure, and the taste in his mouth more beautiful than anything he could imagine. Better. Every time he bit Bruce he swore the omega tasted better, everytime he removed his lips from his neck he thought he couldn't possiably get any sweeter, and every time Bruce offered his neck he would be proven wrong yet again.

 

They had been mating for a long time now, having sex for even longer, but their relationship was still young enough that any bond they carried was partial and incomplete. It didn’t matter. What mattered was Bruce still let him bite him, still let him tend him in heat, and still kissed him afterwards. As long as he allowed him that they would bond one day. The thought clenched warm and happy in his gut and brought a fleeting flash of greater awareness.

 

“Hey,” he broke the kiss. “Next week when I go to Smallville I…”

 

Bruce growled and kissed him again, harder.

 

“… think it would be great if…”

 

Another smothering press of lip.

 

“… you could come.”

 

A horse rasp. “Not what I… ” Bruce shuddered “…want to think about when… ah… you have... knot... inside me.”

 

He rocked against him. The movement sent a flush of pained pleasure through their connected bodies.

 

Clark groaned and rolled his hips forward. “But… will you? I mean…”

 

“Fine,” Bruce rasped. “Fine I… fuck… whatever you want just…” He kissed him again. "...fuck me."

 

As always, Clark obeyed.

 

Bruce took his knot three more times in rough bouts of ready wet sex before collapsing without preamble into a deep boneless sleep. When he woke hours later Clark diligently supplied him with water and food before his heat spiked again, this time with enough presence of hormones to leave Bruce incoherent and shivering with need.

 

Bruce’s heats were an estranged moment in time when he could forget about the rest of the world and concentrate on just one man – just Bruce – and the pleasure they could share. During Bruce’s heat he could let his instincts dictate, allow himself to succumb to the erotic beauty of the man who’s nest he inhabited, and give himself over to the feeling of being claimed and controlled by the most beautifully unconventional omega on the face of the planet.

 

Clark let his reasoning descend into instinctual prominence and gave himself over to the raw feeling of their shared pleasure and sated need.


	2. Chapter 2

The cheapest strongest vodka in Gotham was sold from the back of an open van parked between two warehouses on the edge of the dockyard. It was a strange murky brown, smelt little better than petrol, and left his mouth feeling numb after drinking. It was also the easiest way to wash away the memory of Bruce’s scent still thick across the back of his tongue.

 

It was dusk when he arrived and most of the illicit alcohol already sold or safely stashed. Even in this corner of the city the people knew it wasn’t safe to deal after dark.

 

The other patrons turned their faces away as he approached and hissed to each other about undercover cops. The salesman was more pragmatic. He stepped forward, rolled a large grey chunk of tobacco chewing gum behind his teeth, and loudly sniffed the air in front of him.

 

“Pigs never send high level alphas,” he declared with a wry smile. “Too unstable they call us. Not good at keeping _covert_ they say.” His front two teeth were brown and chipped short.

 

Jason pulled a collection of folded notes from his pocket and tossed them into his hands.

 

“I know,” the man continued as he tested the money between finger and thumb. “Used to be a pig myself under the old Commish. That was back in the good old days when cops were nice and corrupt.” He barked a single bray of harsh laughter. “If I was selling this shit back then I would be a billionaire by now. I’d have my own Iceberg Lounge and be sitting pretty with a bitch on each arm and a couple more on my cock.” Jason watched as he reached into the cardboard box sitting beside him and passed Jason a paper bag with a single straw protruding from the lip. “As it is, here I am, and here you go. En-fucking-joy.”

 

He drank, swirled, and spat.

 

“You got fear toxin in that.”

 

The man grinned. “Fear keeps ‘em thirsty, boy. You want clean, go to Metropolis.”

 

Jason glared at him, tossed away the toxic concoction, and inhaled the foul stench of the other man’s festering alpha body odour. He’d come here to get his mind off Bruce, the sticky memory of his scent peaked with heat, and to work through the excess of alpha hormones that had rushed his blood when Bruce had walked out of his nest hours before. There was more than one way to do that.

 

He swung a punch at the salesmen and watched him stagger and sprawl across the pissed on pavement. Bright red blood spurted from his nose and dripped across lips drawn tight away from bared teeth.

 

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

 

Jason flashed his own teeth; alpha challenging alpha. “You’re my problem, fucker.”

 

The gathered alcoholics shuffled into a circle around them as the man hoisted himself gracelessly to his feet and hurtled towards Jason with a howl.

 

It wasn’t typical but nor was it uncommon for two alphas of the same level to fight. If there was no real reason for the brawl betas would often break it up; driven by the tail end of their own pack preservation instinct. Here on the cracked and crumbling corner of the docks everyone was either too drunk or too hardened to care about another alpha pissing contest.

 

Jason collided with the other man in a tangle of limbs; relishing the wild unpractised method of fighting, the feeling of defeating and dominating another high level of his caste, and the way it fed his starved alpha side to bypass all the social niceties and growl and snap at someone who intrinsically understood and returned the primeval challenge. It was a kind of release he hadn’t sort in years; not since the months directly after the day he first woke up with the strong bitter taste of alpha saliva in his mouth and the aching bulge of a knot at the base of his cock.

 

Fighting like this - alpha to alpha, scent unmasked - couldn’t be more different than the job he performed under the red hood. As a vigilante he had a mission, a bloody brutal vengeance, and he drew on his years of training to see it done. Here there was no goal. Just… the fight.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the other alphas step from the ring of onlookers and swing a plank of wood towards his head. He didn’t manage to detangle his limbs from the other man in time and the world flashed white as the wood connected.

 

The man had pack around. He should have guessed that. Should have checked. Stupid.

 

With a growl more real than any he had uttered that day he threw the first man aside and launched himself towards the newcomer. It was short lived. The man balled his hands into fists and swung them wildly before him. Jason caught his arm, outstretched in the motion of another clumsy punch, and spun him into the side of the van. The impact made a wholly satisfying sound and rendered the newcomer mute as he fell to the ground with a defeated whimper.

 

Jason rounded on his initial opponent.

 

The salesman stood in the centre of the ring blinking down at his fallen partner in surprise. His nose had bled over the bottom half of his face and at some point he had swallowed his gum. When Jason advanced towards him he threw up his hands and backed away.

 

“Shit man, okay. I submit.”

 

“That’s right,” he hissed.

 

As his tunnel vision faded he became aware of the throbbing pain at the side of his skull. He turned, elbowed his way through the slim ring of onlookers, and shrugged off an omega that tried to attach to his arm. A man fished in an open box of cigarettes and timidly offered him one when he saw the action catch Jason’s eye.

 

He took it and left.

 

The smoke blistered the back of his throat and seared the inside of his nose; wiping away all scent in one ragged inhale. He took another hungry drag, coughed, and dropped the stick barely burnt onto the cement with a curse.

 

He hated smoke.

 

It didn’t take him long to find the car he had borrowed from Bruce’s massive and largely unused garage. It was a disgustingly ordinary machine stashed at the back of the official fleet of Wayne cars and registered under a false name. He slumped into the driver’s seat, twisted the mirror towards him, and ran his fingers through his hair. Nothing. He was fine.

 

If Bruce had been watching he would have been sent back to the cave. He should have done better against two belly down daytime drug dealers. But Bruce wasn’t an alpha no matter how much he pretended to be. He wouldn’t understand.

 

He felt sick, agitated, and angry but he also felt more himself, and more in control of himself, than he had when he’d first stumbled down the dockside alleyways with his mentor’s mating musk still lodged hot, heavy, and hungry, in the back of his throat. It hadn’t been enough to forget but nothing ever was. Remembering was involuntary, his least favourite reflex, and scent was the strongest trigger of memory.

 

He sucked in a deep breath and leant over the wheel.

 

Despite what he’d told the rest of the family, Jason remembered his death.

 

He remembered the phone call and the Joker’s shrill voice crackling through the fragile connection, he remembered hearing the screams of a woman who he was told was his mother – who he believed was his mother – panicked and pained in the background, and he remembered ignoring Bruce’s command for him to wait.

 

He remembered the pain of being beaten bloody on the cold concrete, he remembered hearing the chirp chirp chirp of a timer happily counting down to detonation, and he remembered his lungs being crushed under the weight of rubble and his own broken sternum.

 

But most of all he remembered suffocating.

 

Not being able to breathe as the air rapidly filled with thick black smoke and the strong smell of burning petrol. The choking taste of blood as it flooded his mouth, his nose, and splashed hot and sticky across his face. The pain and the panic as he realised what was happening followed by a dizzy exhaustion and finally an almost cinematic fade to black.

 

Funny thing was just before he’d passed out he’d been happy. Giddy. Trying to blow smoke rings into the flame filled air. He remembered that too. Both hating and loving the deadly smell surrounding him; trying to breathe in the poison despite the pain of his shattered ribs and the small shred of sanity still screaming at him to hold his breath.

 

Earlier, when Bruce had walked into the games room hours after everyone thought him safely bunkered in his nest, that memory had come back with earth shattering clarity.

 

Wanting to breathe but not wanting to breathe. Loving and hating the taste of the air even as it undid him, destroyed him, and left him incapable of anything but pulling his shirt up over his nose and mouth and retreating to an empty room with Bruce’s phone to redial the offending alpha again and again.

 

He’d never smelt Bruce in heat before. It was the same scent that had tormented him for years turned up to full deafening volume. So strong he struggled to reconcile the pheromone musk with the man that had mentored him; to register anything beyond unclaimed high level omega untended and in heat.

 

And out of his nest.

 

What kind of alpha waited until an omega was desperate enough to leave their nest before showing up? What kind of alpha needed to be asked twice? How the fuck had such a shallow shitty mutt managed to ever get his teeth into Bruce’s neck?

 

He gritted his teeth, kicked the car into gear, and swung out of the alleyway and onto the road.

 

He thought he had been getting over Bruce’s scent. He had been leaving the manor more often; stealing some respite away from the oppressive walls and the saturating omega essence that seemed to permeate every corner of the massive house.

 

Beyond this, the near permanent bite mark on Bruce’s neck and the developing bond between him and his alpha had also helped shave off the attraction of his scent. An omega once claimed lost almost a third of their allure; pheromones tailored specifically for their bond mate. While Bruce still hadn’t crossed that line he was drawing closer to it every time the alien bit him. Jason hated to admit it but it was easier to live in the manor now that Bruce’s aroma was starting to lose the sharpened edge – the _hook_ – that used to tug painfully sharp at his alpha instincts.

 

Despite himself he had begun to relax, to let down some of his walls… and then Bruce walked in like that. Like _that_. Skin flushed, fists trembling, and hair stuck to his brow with sweat… in heat. In heat and out of his nest.

 

He'd never even smelt an omega in heat before. He'd never even... fuck.

 

He drove through a random tangle of interlocking streets, lost himself in Gotham’s murky underbelly, and followed the trail of traffic until it spilled with a bray of horns into where the Bowery collided with the Narrows. He parked on the rotten cornerstone of Batman’s city and watched as the night swallowed the sky. When it was dark enough he abandoned the car and followed a maze of old alleyways until he found one of the bunkers Bruce and built in the basement of an aged apartment building. The Red Hood costume was heavier built than the one he typically wore but was still manoeuvrable enough for one night.

 

He left.

 

It was four hours later he realised he was being followed.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Silence.

 

“Don’t mess with me, kid. I know you’re there.”

 

Tim edged out from behind the hunched back of a gargoyle in full Robin regalia. His cheeks were flushed under the edge of his mask, hair a dark spill of black across the pale skin of his brow, and cape hugged tight around defensively hunched shoulders. It was his old costume, Jason realised. Just like the one he wore when he died.

 

“How did you know I was here?” The boy mumbled.

 

“You didn’t dampen properly,” he growled.

 

Tim stared at him, uncomprehending.

 

“I can smell you, idiot.”

 

He looked down. “Oh.”

 

They stood on a flat cement rooftop overlooking the mess of streets below.

 

It was an unseasonably hot night and the air uncomfortably thick and heavy. It smelt of burnt rubber, heated tarmac, the collective pheromone musk of the human population. Underlying it all was the festive stench of the Gotham River sloshing slowly beyond the stacked suburbs.

 

“Go away, kid.”

 

“I want to help,” the boy protested.

 

“You’re not ready,” Jason said coldly. “Go back.”

 

“I am ready! I…” he gathered his cape and stepped forward. “I figured out a lead on the whereabouts of Firefly. There is this new…”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“Listen. I can help. If I go with you and we catch Firefly he’ll have to let me…”

 

“What?”

 

Tim twitched and bit his lip.

 

“He’ll have to let you _what_?”

 

“It’s not…”

 

“Let you be Robin?”

 

The boy’s gaze fell back down to his feet. He didn’t answer. The black and yellow fabric of his cape bunched in his fist.

 

Jason twitched. “I got a news flash for you, kid. He doesn’t _have_ to do anything. As messed up as it is he’s the pack leader and he’ll do whatever, and whoever, the fuck he wants.” He turned away. “You got that?”

 

Stubbornly. “I can help. I can. And if you bring in Firefly he’ll…”

 

“I don’t give a damn what he thinks of me,” Jason rumbled.

 

Tim didn’t look at him. “What’s with the red hood then?”

 

The rooftop descended into a sudden sharp silence. When Jason spoke his voice was strained and strangled. “You little shit.”

 

Tim stumbled back as Jason turned towards him. “I-I’m sorry, I just…”

 

“What?!”

 

“Just let me…”

 

Louder. “What?!”

 

Tim stopped as he backed into a chimney stack and held out his hands beseechingly before him. “I need to go on patrol with you,” he pleaded. “I _need_ to. Bruce still thinks I’m not ready. I need to prove it tonight. I need to…” he trailed off hopelessly.

 

“What is this meant to prove huh? You think this will impress him? You’re taking control away from the biggest control freak on the planet.” A horse bark of mirthless laughter. “You think that’ll go down well? Why don’t you use that big fucking brain of yours for a sec and think this through?!”

 

“I have! Tonight is my only chance. Look, I won’t get in the way. I’ll just watch I…”

 

“Why tonight?”

 

The boy hesitated. “I read online heats can last between a day and five. If he’s finished by tomorrow I… I only have tonight.”

 

“He’s a high level,” Jason reminded him.

 

Tim frowned. “Does that change it?”

 

“Fucking hell, kid.”

 

“No, I’m serious,” the boy pressed on. “My dad was an alpha, my mum was a beta, and at the orphanage anyone who became an omega was moved to the other wing. I’ve never lived with an omega before and…” he dropped his hands. “I don’t know.”

 

“He’ll be four to five days. High levels always are.”

 

Tim blushed. “Okay.”

 

Over the last few months Bruce’s mating had been mercifully secretive, his bi monthly absence from the breakfast table the only overt indicator of the crest in his cycle. Jason wasn’t surprised Tim hadn’t noticed the man’s heat before now; Bruce was gone enough on Justice League missions or with Wayne Enterprises that a few odd days away from the manor wasn’t so strange at any time of the month. While this wasn’t the first time Bruce had gone in heat since the boy’s unconventional arrival it was the first time the boy had ever truly witnessed it.

 

While Bruce was in heat he couldn’t return unexpectedly or check up on them remotely like he could when on mission.

 

“I get it,” Jason muttered. “You need to prove yourself while the bat isn’t around to stop you.”

 

Tim shifted from foot to foot. “Yeah?”

 

“Your plan’s a bust because I’m not babysitting your sorry arse,” He grabbed his shoulder. “Get back the cave or I’ll make your life a living hell, got it?” He shoved him across the rooftop in the direction of Wayne Manor.

 

Tim staggered, regained his balance, and turned to face him. His pale skin was flushed with humiliation, hands balled into useless fists, and behind the domino mask his eyes alight with desperate determination.

 

“Why not?! I can help you! You know I can help you!”

 

Jason glared at him.

 

Tim took a deep breath and began again, the frantic anger in his voice melting away as quickly as it had come. “I can do it, Jason. You know I can. You were Robin when you were nine and Richard Grayson…”

 

“Dick.” Jason corrected him.

 

“… was Robin at seven. I’m _thirteen_. I’ve been training for months, I can do all the routines, and I know all the tools. I’m ready.”

 

He snorted in disgust. “Forget it, kid. There are better things in the world than being Batman’s little boy bitch. Trust me.”

 

He turned to leave.

 

“What happened?” Tim’s voice rang out across the empty rooftop like a birdcall through a shopping mall; small, shrill, and strangely out of place. “When you were Robin, what happened?”

 

He stopped and stared down into the hot empty streets. Despite what he'd told the rest of the family, Jason remembered his death. What he didn't remember were the years that followed. He didn't even remember waking up. All he remembered was running in a body too big to be his with strange scars and an uncomfortable clinging mess of facial hair.

 

"I died," he answered.

 

Tim shifted from foot to foot.

 

Jason sighed. “You’re going to keep following me, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

 

“I’ll stay downwind,” the boy said hopefully.

 

Jason grunted. “Tell me about Firefly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I hope you like it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit random and dialogue heavy. I'm sorry for the... well... the randomness and dialogue heavyness.

He was caught in a strange sickening place between arousal and exhaustion. His mouth was dry, breathing ragged, and the skin around his eyes pinched and tight. Despite the rapid flutter of his pulse shifting under the painful lump of his omega gland his limbs felt dangerously weak; frail clumsy attachments that sprawled uselessly around him in a messy tangle. His insides were hot and heavy; plugged full with an obscene amount of semen and the fat girth of his mate swollen to lock them together. Deep. Deliciously deep. So deep it ached.

 

It was the tail end of his heat ebbing slowly away like a wave sinking back down the beach; leaving with none of the speed of its bombarding arrival days before. The last of his mate’s hormone packed ejaculate counterbalancing his body back to normal.

 

Bruce closed his mouth and sucked in a slow steadying breath. He was assaulted by the sweet heavy scent saturating the air. It was thick with heated furls of mixed mating musk; the pheromone cocktail of alpha and omega scents stirred together into an erotic embrace that made his skin tingle with every inhale. It was the familiar sweetness of his own scent caught in a drunken rumba with his mate’s fierce alpha aroma; as sinfully beautiful and fascinating as the man himself.

 

As he shifted the thick warm fluid inside him sloshed back and forth; trapped behind the swell of the other man’s knot and the head of the engorged length shoved deep into him. He groaned.

 

A pair of arms he hadn’t noticed before tightened around him and warm wet lips pressed against the back of his neck. “Hey there, beautiful.”

 

The sound of Clark’s voice sent involuntary stings of muddied need coursing through his ravaged body. His cock twitched and entrance clenched greedily around Clark. The man nuzzled his hair and sighed deeply with obvious pleasure.

 

“God, I love you.”

 

“I’m still angry at you,” he rasped.

 

Clark stiffened, sighed, and began to trace soothing patterns into his belly. “I thought you would be. How are you feeling?”

 

He answered honestly. “Full.”

 

The alpha let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Sorry.”

 

He arched back against the firm body of the man behind him and swallowed a moan as he moved against their tie. It felt good. Clark’s knot always felt good. As it was he was still coming down from his heat and the action sent a debilitating surge of wanton warmth through his exhausted body. “Fuck…”

 

“Hey, don’t move,” Clark spoke into his hair. “It’ll be gone in another ten minutes.”

 

He nodded and buried his face into the torn edge of a ruined sheet.

 

Clark shifted closer to him. “Are you okay?”

 

“How long since we last fucked?” He horsed.

 

“About half and hour. You haven’t been this coherent for days though. I won’t blame you if you don’t remember much about it.”

 

 “I don’t feel fucking coherent,” he growled.

 

He felt Clark’s lips curve into a smile against his skin. “Trust me, Bruce. You’re coherent.”

 

He didn’t have the willpower right then to answer. Instead he grudgingly let Clark shower his skin in kisses and drifted through the slowly fading haze of his heat. At some point the fingers moving against his abdomen began to trace kryptonian symbols into his flesh. He dimly tried to configure the combinations – to make some sense of the alien language – but as usual it eluded him.

 

When Clark’s knot started to shrink he hauled himself off the alpha and rolled onto the mattress beside him with a pained groan. “Fuck…”

 

Clark shifted uncertainly. “Like, is that an instruction or…?”

 

“No,” he snapped.

 

An apologetic grin. “Sorry.”

 

Through the dim light he could make out the man’s mess of black curls, the sharp beautiful shape of sculpted cheekbones, and unearthly blue eyes framed with unobtrusive black lashes. Those eyes were pinned on him, a sparkling testament to his alien origins, and as breathtaking as they wore impossible. Able to burn through him at a look but waiting with blue eyed innocence for him to establish what was going to happen next. As strangely powerful yet submissive as the man they belonged to. The man he had fallen in love with.

 

Bruce looked at him, looked into those eyes, and asked the question that had been snagged at the back of his throat for days. “Where were you?”

 

Clark’s brows folded into a soft, sad, frown. “Bruce I…” He trailed off. “I…”

 

When his heat had struck Bruce had held onto reason as long as he could before the instinctual panic of being alone – of being abandoned by his alpha – had broken through his defences and driven him from the safety of his nest in a mindless cloud of aggressive alarm to search for his missing mate. For Clark.

 

“You said you would be here,” he pushed. “Where were you?”

 

The alpha shifted closer to him. “Just… work,” he answered meekly.

 

“Seriously?”

 

Clark bit his lip and nodded.

 

A putrid bubble of poisonous bile rose in his throat. “Fucking _seriously_?!”

 

“There were problems getting the paper to print and…”

 

“I don’t give a fuck!” He pushed himself into a sitting position and stopped as the world around him spun alarmingly.

 

“I know you don’t,” Clark said miserably as he sat up beside him. “It’s just…” he raked his fingers through his hair. “Things got a bit crazy and I couldn’t get away. Then there was this disaster in Dubai and I had to go and take care of that.”

 

Bruce glared at him.

 

“I know it’s a shit excuse but it’s the truth,” he continued apologetically. “I promise I got here as soon as I could.” A nervous pause. “I’m really sorry I wasn’t here sooner. It was killing me knowing you were alone.”

 

“You knew I was going into heat,” he rumbled. “Why the hell hadn’t you finished your articles?”

 

“I had! I was just about to leave when…” Clark swore. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

“It does,” Bruce heard himself reply.

 

Clark looked at him, flinched, and looked down at his hands. “The cooperate heads introduced these new computers as part of some project,” he began, “or maybe a statement about the quality of the paper, I don’t know. It messed up the editors and…”

 

“You stayed back doing someone else’s job,” Bruce accused.

 

“No! It’s not like that. It’s a daily paper. If it doesn’t make it to the press in time we all suffer and I can’t afford…” his voice drifted off with a ragged curse. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll be here next time. I promise.”

 

“You _promised_ you would be here _this_ time,” he hissed.

 

A long pause. “I know.”

 

Bruce swallowed the bitter lump of anger and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His limbs felt dangerously weak, head throbbed, and his vision swirled with an almost drunken lurch. He closed his eyes.

 

His body was changing gears, shifting slowly back to normal. It left him feeling ragged and worn; the abuse of the last few days finally registering as the hollow ache inside him faded. His hips were bruised, neck sore, and the fluid his body hadn’t managed to absorb leaked down his leg in a hot sticky trail.

 

The mattress shifted as Clark moved towards him. A warm hand tentatively picked up his, interlocked their fingers, and gently squeezed. Lips ghosted against his cheek. He felt the bitter remains of his anger ebb under the softness of that touch.

 

“You know,” Clark began timidly. “I… I wouldn’t be late again if…”

 

“What?” He muttered.

 

“If I had your papers,” he said.

 

He frowned. “What papers?”

 

“Just…” Clark wrapped an arm carefully around him. “…your Right of Care and a doctor’s certificate.”

 

Bruce groaned. “You know why I can’t give you those.”

 

“But… if we….”

 

“We’ve already had this conversation, Clark. The answer is no.”

 

Clark shifted closer and tightened his hold. “Okay,” he said despondently.

 

Bruce opened his eyes and sent him a withering look. “Don’t do that.”

 

“What?”

 

“Make me the bad guy.”

 

Clark didn’t say anything.

 

“If I give you my paperwork there will be a paper trail between Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne,” he reminded him. “And in Gotham at least it’ll be news who I mate. After that whole fuck up last year it’ll probably be news in a lot of other places as well.” He let that settle in for a moment. “You don’t wear a mask. What happens when newspapers with Superman on the cover are sold beside gossip magazines featuring Clark Kent?”

 

“I don’t think…”

 

“And legally mating you to a fake identity would be too risky just to get the time off work with pay. If we’re discovered then… that’s scrutiny my pack doesn’t need. It’s too big a risk for too little gain.”

 

Solemnly. “Is the gain really that small?”

 

“Clark it’s… I can give you money if that’s…”

 

“No,” he interrupted sharply. “No. I’m not taking your money.”

 

 “I would rather you take my money and _be here_ than stick around at work for some extra cash.”

 

Clark turned away. “It’s not about getting time off with or without pay anymore; it’s about getting time off full stop. I’m gone a lot and Perry is starting to notice.” Lower. “If Lois wasn’t covering my arse I would have been fired by now.”

 

Bruce hunched his shoulders and glared down at their interwoven hands. He would never admit it but he hated how close his alpha was with that woman. He’d only met Lois a few times under the playboy persona and had been caught off guard by her smooth repartee at stark odds with her tough as nails reporting style. It was only too easy to see how she’d swept the red cheeked Clark Kent off his feet long before Superman swept her of hers.

 

“It’s not a lot of money,” he muttered.

 

Clark growled. “I told you. I’m not taking your money. I’m not one of your alpha whores.”

 

He snorted. “They were for show, Clark. I never let them touch me.”

 

“Good,” he rumbled.

 

He shrugged off the toothy kiss that scraped against the side of his neck. “Don’t start all that alpha bullshit now. What time is it?”

 

“Early,” Clark answered. “Ten to four in the morning.”

 

“That’s late,” he corrected him. “Is Jason home or still on patrol?”

 

Uncomfortably. “Why do you want to know about Jason?”

 

He sent him a dark look. “Answer the question.”

 

Clark listened. “They just got back. They’re updating the computers now.”

 

Bruce stiffened. “They?”

 

“Jason and Tim.”

 

He lurched onto his feet. “Tim?!”

 

Clark blinked up at him. “Yeah?”

 

Jason. Jason had taken the boy out. He had gone against Bruce and taken Tim out before he was ready. Before Bruce had said it was okay. “That fucking _dog_!” He started towards the door.

 

“Hey!” Instantly Clark was in front of him barring his way. His eyes were wide and sparkling with nervous light. “Bruce, you’re not ready to leave yet.”

 

“Get out of my way.”

 

“No,” the alpha defied him desperately. “You’re still scenting.”

 

He wiped the side of his neck with the heel of his palm and brought the skin up to smell the result. He was. The last pheromones of his heat were still swirling from his skin in a faint echo of the swamping presence of scent that had assaulted the air around him over the last few days.

 

“It’s almost gone,” he rasped.

 

Clark’s lips thinned. “I’m not letting you walk out of here twice in one heat,” he declared.

 

“Let me?”

 

Clark hesitated. “Yes?”

 

“Yes?” Bruce echoed.

 

“I mean no,” he hastily amended.

 

“You’re such a shit alpha,” he said and walked around him.

 

Clark caught his arm as he passed. “I canstop you, Bruce.”

 

He shrugged him off. “That’s my pack out there,” he growled. “If Jason is undermining my authority he needs to be put back in his place. And if you want to be part of this pack you’re not going to stand in my way. Got it?”

 

He flinched. “Okay, but not right now” He bargained. “You can hardly stand.”

 

“I’m fine," he snapped.

 

Clark sent him a beseeching look. “Please just recover first, okay? You’ve got two whole days to sort this out.”

 

Bruce felt his eyes darken. “Two days?”

 

“Yeah, and it’s probably just a misunderstanding,” Clark continued hopefully. “Jason hasn’t been a bad pack member lately, has he? I know he… he’s not the best but he hasn’t been bad.” Clark didn’t sound sure of his own speech.

 

“What’s happening in two days?”

 

He blinked at him. “It’s the weekend.”

 

“And?” Bruce pushed.

 

“You’re coming to Smallville with me.”

 

He stared at him. “What?!”

 

“I…” Clark’s eyes softened. “Oh… you don’t remember, do you?”

 

“Remember what? Your plan to kidnap me?”

 

“I asked you to come to Smallville with me, Bruce. To meet my parents.” A flicker of a smile. “And I am an alien so technically it would be an abduction.”

 

A stretched silence.

 

Bruce raked his brain for a reason not to go. For anything he could use as an excuse to escape the proposed weekend and the hopeful happy look in his mate’s eye. He had known this was coming. Clark had been pushing for this very thing for a while now. But the idea of confronting the couple that raised the man before him… in two days.

 

“I can’t I…”

 

“Why?”

 

“I…”

 

“It’s just the weekend, Bruce. If anything happens in Gotham I’ll carry you back.” He moved towards him in a single slow step. “I really would like you to meet them.”

 

He swore and turned back towards the dimly lit room. “I’m still angry at you,” he informed him curtly.

 

Clark appeared before him in a flood of misplaced air and pressed an open kiss onto his lips. The simple joy in that connection told him that Clark understood the surrender in his words. “I love you," he breathed into his lips. "And they will too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am struggling to get back into the head space I was in when writing the last story. For that reason these chapters might not be as good as some of my previous work. Please forgive me! I hope you're enjoying them regardless. Once I get back into the swing of things they should pick up again (hopefully).
> 
> Thanks to all those that have been commenting. It's a lot of help when I'm trying to wriggle back into the 'flow' of writing to hear that you're enjoying it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

“Check mate.”

 

Tim grinned as Jason frowned down at the board.

 

“How do you do that?” The elder rumbled.

 

“It’s easy,” theboy replied happily. He returned the pieces to the position they had stood in a few turns before and slowly replicated the manoeuvre. “See. Divide and conquer.” He used his knight to knock off the trapped black king. Defeated, the crowned sculpture tumbled off the chequered board and onto Jason’s lap. “Easy.”

 

“Easy,” the man muttered and picked up the fallen piece. He rolled it across his knuckle before tossing it back into the board with a dismissive grunt. “Why do you play this and not GTA like a normal kid?”

 

Tim shrugged. “I did for a bit. Got over it.”

 

“But you’re not over chess,” Jason said in disgust.

 

The boy squared his jaw defiantly. “I like chess.”

 

Grimly. “Of course you do.”

 

The chessboard was set up on the plush carpet of one of the manor’s many studies. Tim sat on crossed legs behind the victorious white line and smiled earnestly across at his opponent. Jason sat slumped against the foot of a large sofa and toyed with a white bishop. They were up abnormally early and the morning sunlight splashed through a gaping window to paint the morbid room with strange golden hues, transforming the rich dark colours of the old fashioned interior. Blood reds became ruddy pinks, burnt black wood became caramel brown, and polished ordainments shone like dragon treasure along the massive bookshelves. Against the far wall a huge grandfather clock ticked in loud staccato.

 

“Do you want to play again?” Tim asked happily and began to reassemble the pieces. “When I used to play with my mum we would always do the best two out of three.”

 

Jason scowled. “Why are you in such a god damned good mood?”

 

Tim blinked up at him and reached forward to pluck the bishop from his hands. “Why aren’t you?” He queried.

 

“Answer the question, kid.”

 

“It’s been five days,” he answered with another grin. “He’s got to be up today.”

 

The alpha groaned. “For fucks sake.”

 

“We’ll tell him what we did and then he’ll have to let me be Robin.” Tim placed the bishop down on its roost and dropped a handful of pawns before it.

 

“Yeah sure,” Jason muttered. “Boy bloody Wonder. How could I forget?” His eyes narrowed on the newly reset chess pieces. “We’re not playing again, kid.”

 

He froze midway through his assembly. “But… it was fun wasn’t it?”

 

“No,” Jason replied.

 

Tim looked down at the game. His line was half built, ready for the rematch, and facing the scattered forces of the black pieces still standing in their losing position. The sunlight drew long light shadows from the simple game pieces.

 

“Okay,” he answered, scooped up the pieces, and dropped them into the open box beside him. “What do you want to do now?”

 

Jason pushed himself to his feet. He didn’t answer.

 

Tim huffed at him and reached to gather up the remaining black. When Jason still didn’t utter a sound he spoke.

 

“You know. The chess bits are kind of like our pack.”

 

“ _Our_ pack?” Jason replied. “You’re feeling cocky newbie.”

 

Tim ignored the jab and continued unfazed. “Bruce is the boss,” he said. “So he’s the king.” He selected the tallest piece and flourished it triumphantly above his head. “And he’s an omega so we all have to protect him.”

 

Jason snorted. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

 

“But that’s how it works isn’t it?”

 

The alpha looked away. “Not around here,” he said stiffly.

 

He blushed. “I… I just… that’s what it said online.”

 

“We need to talk about the websites you visit, kid.”

 

He felt his cheeks redden further and looked down. He selected the second piece from the pile and held it up beside the king in his other hand. “Bruce is mated to Superman who is the most powerful so he’s the queen.”

 

Jason smirked.

 

“What?”

 

“Oh nothing,” the man said with a sharp smile. “You can call him that if you like.”

 

Tim felt his fading blush blaze as his brain caught up with his lips. Queen was an old fashioned slang word used to describe alphas who liked other alphas. While it wasn’t commonly used anymore it was still fairly widely known. There had been one teenage alpha living at the orphanage that was particularly fond of it and hurled it abusively whenever he got the chance.

 

“It’s a metaphor!” Tim cried.

 

“It’s truer than you know,” Jason said dryly. “I’d bet Superman would love to know that’s how you think of him.”

 

“I-I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

“Don’t get your feathers in a bunch. I’m just fucking with you. Kay, Superman’s a queen. Now what?”

 

Tim glared at him for a moment before swallowing down his humiliation and picking up the next figure; slotting it between his fingers. “Alfred is the pack elder,” he said simply. “And he always seems to walk into the room when you’re not looking. Like he’s moving sideways on the board.”

 

Jason cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve noticed that too, huh?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So he’s the bishop. Who is the castle?”

 

“The rook.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

“That’s you,” Tim said and retrieved the piece in question. “At the edge of the pack but still strong.” Jason’s face was as telling as stone. Tim recomposed himself and looked up at him with a flicker of a smile; small but earnest. “When you fight you’re straight forward and direct but for some reason they don’t see you coming.” It was meant to be a compliment.

 

Jason snorted. “It’s because of your bird bitch posturing.”

 

Tim twitched and looked down at the stern black rook lying on its side in the palm of his hand. It was made of polished stone; stark and cold but also strangely, simply, beautiful despite the harshness.

 

“And you’re the knight?” Jason concluded. “Way to rub one out, kid.”

 

He stared down at the game board. “Actually, I’m the pawn.”

 

The alpha didn’t move.

 

“I’m the newbie, remember. Richard Grayson is the knight.”

 

“You think Dick is a knight? Boy, you’re going to be disappointed when he comes back.”

 

“Maybe, but you won’t be.”

 

Jason’s eyes went dark. “Yeah? How do you reckon that? You don’t even know the guy.”

 

“No, but you do. You think about him a lot.” Jason didn’t budge. “Right?” Tim questioned, his resolve failing under the darkness of the older man’s glare.

 

“You think that?”

 

“Yeah…?”

 

“Yeah?” he sneered. “How do you figure that?”

 

Tim looked down at the pieces gathered in his hands. “You never tell me to call Superman Clark but Richard Grayson and Nightwing are always…”

 

“Dick.”

 

“Yeah,” he said again.

 

Jason looked away and swore under his breath.

 

“The knight and the rook go beside each other even though they’re really different,” he said quickly. “That’s just what you guys used to do on patrol. You used to work better as a team than either of you did with Batman.” He picked up the black half horse figure and slotted it between his fingers. “Plus, I’ve seen the old Flying Grayson videos. It was how I found out who Batman was. The way you and Bruce act and what Alfred says about him I thought… he would be like a knight.”

 

“He’s more like you, kid.”

 

Tim blinked. “Really?”

 

“Annoying.”

 

He bit his lip. “Oh.”

 

“And you got it all wrong.” Jason knelt down, gathered all the pieces up in his hands, and dumped them into the open box. “We’re all pawns.”

 

Tim frowned.

 

“Only,” Jason continued. “Some of us are on different sides and we do that thing when we run into each other and can’t move because we’re blocking each others way but can’t get rid of each other either because we can only attack sideways.”

 

“All pawns can be qu– the strongest piece in the game.” Tim stumbled through a messy protest. “If they try.”

 

“Or they could be stuck.” Jason retaliated.

 

Tim set his jaw but didn’t say anything.

 

Jason sighed. “You’re such a stubborn brat.”

 

Tim’s retort was interrupted by the soft double click of a hidden switch shifting open. A grove of butterflies took flight in his stomach as the grandfather clock slid back and Bruce stepped into the room with a baneful look in his eye. His hair was damp, skin scrubbed clean, and clothes new enough to still have tags on them. It did little to hide the freshly hollowed out cheekbones and new lines etched into his face.

 

Superman trailed behind in full blue and red regalia looking at his mate like he was a bomb set to explode.

 

“You,” Bruce jabbed a finger at Jason. “Come with me.”

 

“Wait!” Tim scrambled to his feet. “I… don’t you want him to report first?”

 

“No,” the man snarled.

 

“But…” Tim shot Jason a desperate look. “A lot happened when you were gone.”

 

Growled. “I know.” His eyes moved to lock onto Jason with deliberate intensity.

 

The young alpha bristled as he registered the challenge but angrily lowered his gaze and shuffled back in grudging surrender.

 

Tim didn’t know the details but it was obvious Jason had been a long standing rival within Bruce’s pack until shortly before he arrived. Whatever had happened to put Jason in his place had worked but left the young alpha on the fringe still struggling to adapt to his more grounded position within the pack. Jason preferred not to patrol with Bruce and rarely trained with them as part of the team while Bruce for his part remained distrustful of the unattached alpha.

 

But, Tim thought, he hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no reason for Bruce to be angry with him unless…

 

“Wait!” He bounded between the two and grabbed Bruce’s sleeve. This close he could smell the strange overlay of aromas rising from the mates’ skins. Their scents imprinted onto each other so thickly it was almost hard to tell which was the alpha which the omega.

 

“It’s not what you think,” Tim began. “I…”

 

Low. “I’ll deal with you later.”

 

“Hey,” Superman stepped forward and tugged beseechingly on his mate’s arm. “Hear the story first, okay?”

 

Bruce shot the other man a layered look and jerked his arm out of his hold. “I know all I need to.”

 

“No you don’t,” Tim tugged sharply on the captured hem of Bruce’s sleeve. “It was me. I followed him on patrol. It wanted to… but we did good. Jason, tell him about Firefly.”

 

Jason looked at him for a while before speaking in a low reluctant rumble. “We caught Firefly.”

 

“See!” Tim seized upon the small sentence like a starving man snatching at scraps. “I read the reports you left and found a change in the pyrotechnics he was using now compared to five years ago. One of the flame throwers ran of crude ethanol made from sugarcane. It was the same in the weapons the Justice League found in King Cobra’s dealing rink two years…”

 

“How did you get that information?” Bruce said stiffly.

 

Tim felt his blood run cold. “Y-you left the case file and…”

 

“I left the report on Firefly. I didn’t leave anything on King Cobra and the Justice League.”

 

Tim felt his vocal cords seize up in a moment of dumb horror. “I…” he tried. “I…”

 

Bruce’s eyes returned to Jason who stood frowning down at Tim as if he just grew horns. “Did you give him access to those files?” Bruce asked.

 

Jason snorted. “Do I have access to those files?”

 

Tim swallowed the flood of irrational fear and straightened. “I hacked the system,” he confessed in a croak. Bruce’s gaze flashed back to his. “I… I didn’t think you would tell me if I asked and I needed to find out if there was any information you knew which was important so I could get Firefly for you.” His voice trailed off, strangely pitched like an unanswered question.

 

“You hacked the batcomputer?” Bruce reaffirmed.

 

“Yes.”

 

“In five days?”

 

He twisted his shirt in his fingers. “In two hours.”

 

The room descended into a heavy silence.

 

Tim’s mind swirled through the memories of the last few days, of the last few months, and wondered in a grim flicker of chilled emotion if Bruce was going to kick him out. Jason was right. He was the newest member of the pack, a pawn, and he could be removed. He hadn’t formed any real pack bonds yet and unlike Clark didn’t have a solid single link to the family’s inner circle. He’d wanted to be Robin, to prove he could be part of the working pack and not just a stray too old to learn new tricks. It was a stupid idea and now it was going to lose him the one chance he had to be part of something since his parents died.

 

Superman let out a slow whistle. “Wow,” he said.

 

Bruce shot him an icy look.

 

“Just saying… that’s impressive.”

 

“It was just the low grade information,” Tim tried to downplay his crime. “It only had a few pass codes on it and I used one of the chips from the back of the weapons vault.”

 

Bruce raked his hands through his hair. “You got into the weapons vault as well.”

 

Tim flinched and looked down. It wasn’t a question. He didn’t answer.

 

“Damn it, Tim,” he snapped. “Why didn’t you just talk to me? Why did you have to go out with him and try to get yourself killed?”

 

“I can do it,” he protested. “I can…”

 

“You can do a lot,” Bruce agreed. “That much is evident. But you are not ready to take on those streets. Not in fighting prowess.”

 

“No I… tell him Jason I…”

 

“He can hit when he wants to,” Jason backed him up. “Good with a quarter staff.”

 

Bruce’s eyes blazed a blistering pale blue. “ _You_ shouldn’t have let him follow you,” he accused.

 

Jason’s lip curled. “Yeah right. I had a city to take care of, some guys to rough up. I wasn’t going to piss around taking your latest pity case back to the hold.” He let the sentence hang for a moment. “Anything else, boss?”

 

“Jason,” Superman began.

 

Jason’s eyes flashed to the other alpha. “ _You_ don’t get to tell me what to do, freak.”

 

Superman blinked. “I wasn’t I…”

 

“Good.” Jason’s gaze snapped back to Bruce like a stretched rubber band returning to shape. “Anything else, boss?” He said again, voice sharp enough to draw blood.

 

“No,” Bruce rumbled. “Get out of here.”

 

A twitch of lip. “Gladly.”

 

Tim watched in horror as the other man, the only evidence as to his worth as a vigilante, left the room without a backward glance. The fragile flame of hope still grasping to life inside his chest gutted as Jason slammed the door behind him. He’d broken the rules and now Bruce was going to make him leave. He would never be Robin, he would never get to work beside the Batman, and he would never be a real part of Bruce’s pack. A part like Jason was, like Alfred was, and like Dick obviously was despite his absence.

 

“You don’t have to pretend to be such a beta all the time,” Bruce said over his shoulder at his mate. “He walks all over you.”

 

“It’s okay,” the alien said with a stretched smile. “He needs to walk over someone.”

 

Bruce snorted.

 

“Hey, it’s alpha instinct. He’ll be happier if he’s not bottom peg.”

 

Dryly. “Where’s your alpha instinct?”

 

Clark shrugged. “I never minded too much.”

 

Bruce grunted and turned his attention slowly back towards Tim.

 

He hugged his sides and looked up at the man that had been training him these last few months. Bruce radiated authority and power despite his ragged appearance and the overlapping bite marks imprinted onto his neck. His eyes were an unforgiving silver, chin proud, and posture sure and assertive.

 

“Talk to me, Tim.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I just wanted to help.”

 

“See, he…”

 

“Go get breakfast, Clark,” Bruce muttered, rubbing his forehead. “You need to go to work in an hour.”

 

The man bit his lip, nodded, and shot Tim a sympathetic smile before floating out of the room, his cape flowing behind him like a waterfall of red. The door shut softly at his heels. Bruce waited a moment longer before he spoke.

 

“Why do you want to be Robin?”

 

Tim’s eyes sank to stare at his bare feet standing in the plush carpet. “Why don’t you want me to be Robin?”

 

His answer was immediate. “You could get hurt. You’re not ready.”

 

“And Richard Grayson was at seven?”

 

Without hesitation. “Yes.”

 

A lump stuck in the back of his throat as his gaze turned to regard the black knight rearing from its podium and on its side in the chess box. “Why? What’s so special about him?”

 

“He had unique skills,” Bruce said. “He was also a more natural fighter. So was Jason. You are not.”

 

A weighted pause.

 

“And I was younger, stupider.” Bruce added with a sigh. “He shouldn’t have been on the streets as inexperienced as he was.”

 

“He was fine,” Tim reminded him bitterly.

 

“Yes, he was.”

 

Tim balled his hands into fists and glared at the chess piece still shining offensively beautiful in the morning light. “What happened to Jason, then? He told me he died.”

 

“He did.”

 

Irate. “Tell me the truth.”

 

Bruce watched him with cool, calculating, regard. “It is the truth. We buried him, Tim. Not even he remembers how he came back.”

 

He digested this information. To his surprise he found he believed it. It was more than Bruce’s gravely tone or Jason’s simple assurance; it was the bleak look he had seen plastered across the young alpha’s eyes. Like the reflection of a storm; dark, dangerous, and strangely misplaced.

 

“Are you going to kick me out?” He asked in a throaty rasp.

 

“No.”

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

Bruce shifted. “Jason’s unstable, Tim. He’s reckless. You can’t…”

 

“He’s fine,” Tim heard himself say. “I know he isn’t perfect but he’s trying to be a better part of the pack, he really is. You just don’t trust him.”

 

“No,” Bruce agreed sharply. “I don’t trust him.”

 

“Because he’s an alpha?”

 

A low warning rumble.

 

“Is that it?”

 

“Why do you trust him?” Bruce evaded.

 

His response was immediate and unthinking. “He’s pack.”

 

Bruce grunted. “I’m the pack leader. Do you trust me?”

 

Nervously. “Yes.”

 

“Then stay off the streets until I say.”

 

His heart sank. “But…”

 

“I’m going away for the weekend,” the man continued stonily. “Before I do you need to show me exactly how you bypassed the security systems in the cave. Since you clearly have skill in the area I’ll leave more case files for you and give you access to more informational files on the computer. If you find anything inform Alfred and he’ll send Jason. Alone. If you break the rules again I will restrict your involvement in Batman. Do you understand?”

 

Tim stared hopelessly up at him.

 

Bruce sighed. “You’re very perceptive, Tim. You could be a great detective one day if you want it.”

 

“I want to be Robin.”

 

Bruce’s gaze drilled into his. “I know.”

 

Softly. “Will you ever let me be Robin?”

 

The man studied him for a long time before swearing and looking aside. “If I set you some training while I’m gone will you dedicate yourself to it?”

 

The offer felt like sighting land after days adrift. “Yes! I will! Anything!” He remembered Jason’s honorific. “Anything, boss,” he amended quickly. “I’m yours.”

 

The man nodded. “Dick Grayson is back in Gotham and will be coming back to the manor shortly.”

 

His smile vanished. “Dick?”

 

“Yes,” Bruce said. “He’ll be able to give you some basic training on movement. If you show impressive improvement in that area I’ll consider taking you out for observation.”

 

Silence.

 

“This is what you want, isn’t it?”

 

“Y-yes I… thank you.”

 

Bruce eyed him critically, grunted, and turned towards the door. It closed behind him with an assertive click.

 

Tim stood in the suddenly empty room and stared down at the half packed game of chess. It was an expensive set despite the tattered box, aged board, and pieces rolling loose in the bottom of the kit. The black knight remained where it had landed when Jason had tossed the figures into the box; right beside the fallen rook.

 

Jason had only just started to accept and hang out with him. Before Tim followed him on patrol the older male rarely even acknowledged him let alone spoke to him. But in the hours they spent hoping the rooftops, and the sluggish summer days between, he had finally found a sense of _pack_. Clark was too aloof to provide that feeling and while Bruce was the core of the family the man was guarded enough that any pack mate imprint Tim had made to him was fragile at best. While he got pieces from the dutiful care of Alfred it had come together when he hunted with Jason.

 

But Jason had a preferred pack mate and Tim was just the new kid, the pawn, who could only shuffle forward one step at a time and hope he didn’t get stuck behind someone coming the other way.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter than usual. Just a heads up.

Clark stopped outside the office and used the reflection in the window to try to wring some of the creases out of his clothes. It was a hopeless endeavour.

 

Usually if he had to leave the Daily Planet as Superman he would find a safe hiding place for Clark Kent’s more conservative attire. Five days ago he had been half mad with the knowledge of Bruce’s untended heat and had abandoned the clothes in a heap on the edge of the rooftop. There the elements had not been kind to them. His shirt was missing several buttons and was stiff like cardboard, his tie hung in a sorry tatter, and his jacket had developed a hole under his left arm. His shoes had suffered the most and were still moist from the rain two days ago. One sock had vanished but miraculously his glasses made it through more or less okay.

 

Clark rubbed the lenes against the cuff of his sleeve, scraped his messy tangle of hair across his brow, and slipped the heavy frames back into place on the bridge of his nose. He grimly regarded his reflection and thought wistfully of his other suit still recovering from Lois’s last investigative reporting adventure at the dry cleaners. As it was he looked more like Harry Potter than Superman.

 

But despite his ragged appearance he was still obviously straight from the arms of a heating omega. His skin sported a healthy hearty glow, his hair shone like it belonged in a shampoo ad, and under the omega scent still clinging to his skin he smelt warm and deeply, undeniably, satisfied. An alpha reaping the benefits of sexually shared hormones. It was a dark reversal of his mate’s appearance that morning. Despite showering and dressing in brand new clothes Bruce still looked worn and fallow hours after his heat had subsided. Clark knew it would be days before that look faded entirely. Heats were incredibly physically strenuous on an omega; the sheer overdose of their own natural chemicals enough to wreck havoc on their body and brain as Bruce’s frequent memory loss demonstrated. Even with the boon of Clark’s alpha hormones he had suffered.

 

While Clark couldn’t deny he loved the simple instinctual _bodily_ pleasure of sharing Bruce’s heat, he hated the aftermath. Both in terms of the physical consequences for his mate and the repercussions in other areas in his life.

 

He gave up trying to straighten his ruined clothes, took a deep breath, and pushed through the door into the Daily Planet’s bustling newsroom.

 

He was greeted with the familiar mess of scents, the furious murmur of hurried conversations, and the clatter of keyboards as the new edition was made ready for print. A collection of screens attached to the corners of the room streamed the stock market and serval live news reports. While the volumes were lowered the sound was enough to fill any empty air left in the sprawling office scape.

 

He wove between the clusters of desks, avoided the curious looks of his co-workers, and tentatively approached where his and Lois’s desks were crashed together.

 

“You better have my coffee, Smallville,” the woman said without turning around.

 

He moved faster than the human eye could follow. “I do now.”

 

Lois spun her chair around and fixed him with a stony look which quickly evaporated to be replaced by an incredulous stare. “ _That’s_ what you’re wearing? You’ve come to beg forgiveness and _that’s_ what you decide to show up in?”

 

“I left them on the roof,” he muttered self consciously.

 

“Okay,” she threw up her hands, “I know it has got to be depressing opening your closest and seeing a week’s worth of your ugly outfits but – for the love of God – you’re getting paid too much _not_ to own them.”

 

“It’s not that bad,” he retailed meekly.

 

She sighed and held up her hand. “Give me the coffee.”

 

He shuffled forward and offered her the steaming cup.

 

“I have a funny feeling we’ve done this before,” she muttered and plucked the coffee from his hand. “I even know what comes next. You apologize, mope around for a bit, and then come up with some god damned beautiful article and all is forgiven.”

 

“That’s the plan,” he said with a half grin. “I might skip the moping this time though.”

 

“Hold on,” she held up a finger. “We’ll get to the moping, or lack there of. You still owe me an apology.”

 

She was right. He took a deep breath, hunched his shoulders, and looked into her eye. “Lois I am so…”

 

“No no no,” she waved away his words. “This is not the first time I have stayed back _for hours_ to save your worthless hide, Smallville. If the world’s in danger? Fine. I’m all for being the unsung hero. But so you can get your socks off? No. That’s not okay. I need you need to get down on your knees for this one.”

 

He blinked. “Seriously?”

 

“ _And_ I need you to promise me - and Perry - that this is the last time you’re going to do this.”

 

His heart sank. “Lois I… I can’t.”

 

“I am serious Smallville,” she said and placed the coffee untouched on her desk. “If you want to keep this job you’re going to have to start playing it by the book. I know you look at Perry like he’s the big bad boss but he’s cutting you way more slack than most guys would. Heck, you _should_ be fired by now.”

 

“I don’t think…”

 

“There are a lot of young _reliable_ reporters out there, Clark. Pretty soon some higher up is going to start counting these unexplained absences of yours and they’re not going to be as nice about it as Perry.”

 

Clark stared at her and felt something wrench deep inside him. He loved working at the Daily Planet. When he had first walked into the building with a new pair of glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose and a job application tucked under his arm he had been looking for an early alert system for any disasters that called for his alter ego identity. Since then his super hearing had grown strong enough to pick up the screams of distress faster than any news broadcast. He stayed because he’d fallen in love with the bustling newsroom, the plucky forward reporting style, and the good he could do as Clark Kent that was beyond Superman’s reach.

 

The Daily Planet was important to him. God it was but… it wasn’t more important than Bruce.

 

“I can’t,” Clark said miserably.

 

Lois slumped back in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair. “Why not?”

 

“My mate he… won’t give me the papers.”

 

Again. “Why not?”

 

“He doesn’t want people to know.”

 

“Well,” the woman’s lip quirked. “I wouldn’t either if you walked around dressed like that.”

 

He tried for a smile. It stretched awkward and thin across his face, faltered, and faded in a single heartbeat.

 

He loved the Daily Planet but, as much as it hurt him, he would let it go for Bruce. He would give up anything for that man. He was his mate, his partner, and ultimately he was right. If Clark outed their relationship he could inadvertently expose himself, bring a disastrous amount of scrutiny onto the Wayne household, and risk condemning his partner should Bruce’s vigilante persona be discovered as a result. He would give up his position to protect Bruce from that. It was the only right thing to do.

 

Clark was the alpha; even if Bruce refused to be treated like an omega their biology – and his super powers – meant Clark would reap greater rewards with less physical injury than Bruce. It was only right, if someone were to make sacrifices, it would be him. It was only fair.

 

_But what if Bruce left?_

 

The thought sounded, ugly and traitorous, at the back of his mind. It took root before he could banish it and spread like wildfire across his mind.

 

What if he were to give up his job here? Give up what he had worked so hard for, who he had become, and then be left with nothing when Bruce decided their relationship had become too hard or too risky to maintain? And he would. Bruce had already demonstrated how quickly he could change his mind in terms of their partnership. When Clark had first met the omega’s pack the disastrous evening had almost driven Bruce to leave him right then and there. He had managed to talk him down at the time but the event had left a lingering thread of mistrust targeted towards his mate.

 

He would give up anything for Bruce. But, as much as he hated to admit it, the same could not be said in reverse. There were many things in the world which could cause Bruce to abandon their fledgling relationship; to leave him armed with only whatever ridiculous justification he could construct to substantiate his fears and insecurities.

 

He gritted his teeth against the treacherous train of thought and fixed his mind on the million small memories he’d already managed to share with the man in the brief few months they had been together. They were worth it. _He_ was worth it. Bruce was more important than he could even properly conceive and nothing else…

 

God, but what if Bruce did leave him? Without him _or_ the Daily Planet he would be left with… nothing…

 

“Look,” Lois interrupted his thoughts, “honestly Smallville I just don’t understand why you’re doing this. All I can think of is your omega is illegally documented.”

 

It was required on the census forms – as well as other legal documentation – for every adult to declare their sexual caste. Most of this was just for statistics but in terms of omegas it was the primary means of identification used by lawyers for inheritance exclusion. It was fraud for an omega to pretend to be a different sexual caste in order to receive family money before they were properly bonded. Despite the push to overturn the archaic law, spurned on by the events that followed Bruce’s own outing, an omega still usually needed a horde of lawyers to legally get their hands on their full inheritance.

 

Smothering oneself in perfume and ticking the little box ‘beta’ was a much easier way out.

 

“No,” Clark sighed. He didn’t want to lie. Not to her. Not when his mind was still reeling through a sickening sequence of ugly imagined outcomes. “No, it’s not that. He’s… famous.”

 

Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”

 

He moved forward and sat on the edge of her desk. “I don’t know what I can do, Lois. I can’t ask him to…”

 

“Wait. Hold on.” She held up her hands. “How famous? Like, famous enough to make Clark Kent famous?”

 

He shrugged. “Temporarily.”

 

“Which would be enough,” he concluded and raked her fingers through her hair. “Damn it. How did you meet him?”

 

“I… I don’t know…”

 

“You don’t know?!”

 

“Shh,” he hushed her and looked around to make sure no one had noticed. To his relief the room was far too busy for anyone to take note of their conversation. “I don’t know _if I can tell you_ ,” he finished apologetically. “He would be angry at me for just telling you this much.”

 

She leant back in her chair. “He’s Justice League isn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.

 

“I… eh…” he looked away.

 

“You really do pick them don’t you, Smallville.”

 

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, ignoring the exasperated tone in her voice. “I don’t want to give up working here. I don’t. God, if I lose this and… but what else can I do?”

 

She stared at him for a while. “You could try to get a false identity for him,” she began hopelessly. “But, you know, they check these things pretty regularly and pretty well. Especially here after Steve invented that omega so he could go to the playoffs. If you get caught people will wonder why you were trying to hide it.”

 

He buried his head in his hands and groaned.

 

“Hey,” the woman put a hand on his wrist. “We’ll think of something.”

 

The small words of encouragement helped more than he thought they would. Lois had been a lot of things to him over the years – a rival, a lover, a brutal editor – but in all that time she had never failed to be his friend.

 

“Thank you,” he replied and dropped his hands. “For everything. I mean it.” A deep breath. “And, I’m sorry.”

 

“Well,” the woman grimaced. “It wasn’t on your knees but it’ll do.”

 

He husked a dry laugh.

 

“What are you going to tell Perry?” Lois asked.

 

Clark looked over his shoulder towards the imposing office. “The same thing, I suppose.”

 

Deciding it was time to face the music he pushed off her desk, tried and failed once again to make his clothes decent, and with a parting smile began the long march towards Perry’s square block of walled in space.

 

“Smallville,” Lois stopped him.

 

“Yes?” He turned.

 

“In case you’re fired and I don’t see you... happy birthday for next week.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jason heard him first.

 

He always heard him first. His voice was light, fluid, and carried through the grim grey corridors like fresh air pouring into an ancient tomb. It swept aside the stale familiar sounds of the manor, echoed down the yawning hallways, and left the air reverberating with friendly promise. Dick. The voice was as unmistakable as it was strangely filling and frightening compelling; the sound of his absent partner in crime tugging on his muscles like strings on a puppet.

 

He lurched to his feet, his conversation with Tim instantly forgotten, and turned mindlessly towards the noise.

 

“What is it?” The boy asked, shocked.

 

“Your black knight,” he answered and pushed open the door into the hallway beyond. Tim scampered through behind him, tilted his head when he heard the unfamiliar laugher, and frowned with a mixture of targeted apprehension and creeping curiosity.

 

The murmur of voices was too far away to make out the conversation but as Jason listened he could pick out Dick’s easy natural tone interlaced with Alfred’s precise polite speech as the two reacquainted themselves. The butler and the acrobat had always had a natural easy rapport. Jason assumed it was due to their shared sexual caste. Betas were the peacekeepers of any pack and thus usually readily warmed to each other’s presence, seeing it as aid rather than a challenge or threat. It was incredibly rare for two betas to challenge each other over pack dynamics preferring instead to exist in a state of peaceful equilibrium. Alphas and omegas, by contrast, were far more likely to set up basic pecking orders among their fellow caste members and fight to either maintain or topple that hierarchy.

 

“They’re coming closer,” Tim said nervously.

 

Jason grunted and moved to intercept them and Tim jogged at his heel as they made their way through the ornate halls of the massive mansion. They marched along one corridor, turned into another, and were halfway down the flight of stairs when they ran into them.

 

“…can carry it myself, Alfred. It’s not that heavy. I only packed…” Dick trailed off as he spotted them.

 

Alfred paused on the steps. “There you are young masters. I was wondering when you would emerge. Is there something you need?”

 

Jason didn’t answer.

 

Dick looked… different. His hair was shorter, face thinner, and his clothes were worn and faded from hard use. The muscles in his arms looked lean and hard in a way they weren’t before, his skin carried a hint of extra colour, and a shadow of regrowth fell below freshly sharpened cheekbones. Slung over one shoulder was a simple black backpack.

 

“Jason,” Dick named him with forced normality. Frowned. “And… Jason from ten years ago?”

 

“I’m thirteen,” Tim corrected him stiffly.

 

He blinked in bemusement. “Okay. Hello Jason from six years ago.”

 

An uncertain silence.

 

“Right,” Dick said slowly. “I’m just going to keep calling him thirteen year old Jason until someone tells me otherwise.”

 

“This is Master Timothy Drake,” Alfred supplied. “I do believe I told you about him.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Dick grinned. “The kid that figured us out.”

 

“And you’re Richard Grayson,” Tim replied.

 

“The one and only, unless Facebook can be believed. Call me Dick.”

 

Tim looked down at his hands where he rolled a rubber band between his first two fingers. “Okay.” He wore a cavernous yellow and black Gotham Knights shirt and a pair of jeans that were already almost too small for him. His fringe fell over his brow to hang just before his eyes like a curtain.

 

“Well,” Dick said after an extended pause. “As much as I love silently standing in the stairway, I’ve been stuck in an airport for six hours, and I’m exhausted.” He continued up the stairs and stepped around them. He smiled at Tim as he passed. That smile slipped slightly as his eyes slid to Jason but stayed politely in place. When he and Alfred were safely past Jason sucked in a deep breath, clenched his hand into a fist, and continued down the stairs. Each step felt strangely stiff and harried.

 

“Hey,” Tim followed him indecisively. “Didn’t you want to… don’t you… you didn’t say anything.”

 

“Didn’t need to, kid,” he growled.

 

“But…”

 

Jason stopped and rounded on him. “What do you want?”

 

Tim blinked. “I thought…”

 

Angrily. “What?!”

 

Tim’s eyes fell back down to the rubber band twisted between his fingers. “I thought he was your friend,” he said uncertainly. “That’s all.”

 

“Friend?” Jason snorted. “You saw the way he looks at me. He hardly fucking tolerates me.”

 

The words rose out of him like bile; putrid, painful, and congealing against a harsh lump wedged at the very back of his throat. He swore and continued down the stairs two at a time.

 

Tim trailed after him. “I don’t get it. You always talk about him. You used to patrol with him. How can you not be friends?”

 

He didn’t say anything.

 

Tim grabbed his arm, stopping him. “What happened? Did you two fight? Is that why he left?”

 

Jason groaned and shrugged him off. “Look, kid, I get it. You’re a god damned genius. But this is none of your fucking business.”

 

“But…”

 

“Go away!”

 

Tim slowed and stopped on the edge of a step. Jason let himself leave him behind.

 

Despite himself he’d grown more attached to the kid than he thought he ever would. It had been strangely satisfying to hunt with pack again, even if it was just the gangly pup Bruce had found curled on their doorstep. Tim was new but he was also the only pack member that readily trusted him and treated him… like something other than a threat. It had been refreshing; a reminder that he had stayed under this roof for a reason; that this pack, this family, was something he wanted to be a part of… despite everything.

 

He burst out of the stairwell, strode along a banistered walkway, and stepped down the last gleaming steps into the main foyer. The room was overshadowed by a massive chandelier, the marble floor shone offensively bright, and the dark wood door hung open below a W shaped emblem. A lone figure stood in the middle of the cavernous room looking angrily around at the emptiness around him and holding a phone.

 

He saw Jason. “Hood,” he grunted. “I didn’t know you still lived here.”

 

Jason frowned. “What the fuck are you doing here, Harper?”

 

“I was dropping off your big brother,” the man said. “Idiot left his phone in the car. Give it to him, will ya?”

 

He threw the phone. Jason caught it. “You dropped Dick off?” He muttered.

 

The red head scowled. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

 

Roy Harper was of medium build, had taunt well used muscles, and wore a tattered brown shirt; sleeves rolled to display the tattoos splashed across his arms. Grey green eyes glared at him from between orange lashes.

 

Evan from a distance Jason could smell the agitated alpha musk thick on the other man despite his low level. It was sharp, harsh, and smothered with Dick’s familiar sweet soft fragrance. The meaning of their interwoven scents hit him with the force of a sledge hammer.

 

“You…” he began in disbelief.

 

“…dropped him off,” Roy finished after a pause. “Yes. I told you that. Twice.”

 

Jason stared at him.

 

“Fuck man, are you high?”

 

He scowled and flashed his teeth in an ugly snarl. “Get the fuck out of here.” His voice was low, horse, and ripped out of him in a harsh ugly growl.

 

“Huh,” Roy edged back. “Fine man. Didn’t mean to walk into your territory or nothing.” He backed towards the door. “Hey, we haven’t hunted together since we were kids, if you want to go out and catch some bad guys sometime?”

 

Jason ignored him and spun on his heel to storm back the way he had come. His mind swirled through a sickening pool of realisation, emotion, and wretched understanding. Dick was… Dick had… with Roy. The thought wedged behind his ribs him like a burning hot bullet. Painful, scarring, and unquestionably disastrously wrong. It restricted his breathing until each inhale became a ragged gulp and each exhale a hiss of air between gritted teeth.

 

By the time he had made up back up the stairs and along the corridor to Dick’s bedroom he felt sick with it; his chest wrapped around a scorching mass of bitter anger.

 

He pushed around the departing butler and barged into the bedroom.

 

“Roy Harper?” He horsed. “You’re dating Roy Harper?”

 

Dick looked up at him, pinned him with a cold look, and continued unpacking his pack. “Yeah. So what?” He sat on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked under himself, and shoes kicked off onto the floor.

 

Jason felt his shock and anger fester inside him. “You can’t date Roy!” He yelled. “You can’t!”

 

Dick’s response was like a dagger to the gut; sharp, fast, and final. “I can date whoever I want,” he said; voice eerily monotoned but still laced with a thread of cutting animosity. “Believe it or not, it’s not up to you to decide who I spend my time with.” He took out a folded collection of shirts, laid them across his knee, and smoothed out the wrinkled cotton.

 

“You mean fuck,” Jason corrected sharply.

 

His lips thinned into a tight angry line. “Is there something you want?”

 

“Yeah,” Jason snarled. “I want you to dump that motherfucker.”

 

The beta turned away as he put the shirts down beside him. “Go away, Jason.”

 

“No! I’m not going anywhere until you tell me you’re going to get rid of that mutt!”

 

“You’re such an idiot,” Dick muttered.

 

“I’m not the one dating Roy-fucking-Harper.”

 

“No,” Dick stood, “you’re not. So it’s none of your business.”

 

It was an ugly parallel of the same conversation he’d had with Tim on the stairwell. Except, Jason saw with sudden unsettling clarity, this time he was the kid dogging the heel of the older pack mate. It made him feel small, wretched, and his anger petulant and unjustified.

 

He crossed his arms and swallowed the forlorn feeling. “You’re wrong. You’re part of this pack. So am I. It is my business.”

 

Dick stepped forward and pinned him with an icy glare. “This is my life, Jason. Mine. It doesn’t belong to you, to the pack, to anyone but me.”

 

“Except for R—”

 

“Don’t start this again,” Dick interrupted him sharply. “We’ve made our peace.”

 

“No we haven’t!”

 

“Well, I’ve made my peace with you,” he walked around him and swung the door wide, making room for his departure. “Is there anything else you need? If not I’m really too tired to talk right now.”

 

He stared at him. “You can’t just… just…”

 

Dick watched him, silently waiting for him to cough out the sentence.

 

“I… if this is about what happened before I… I fucked up. You know that. You know I’m sorry.”

 

Dick regarded him for a while. “I’ve forgiven you, Jason.”

 

Harshly. “Then why do you still hate me?”

 

“I don’t hate you.”

 

He looked down. “Don’t lie to me.”

 

“I’m not.” A stretched silence. “Is that my phone?”

 

The anger inside him shattered; the hot bitter pieces melting as they spread into his limbs, stealing any strength he held there and leaving his hands shaking as a stomach-churning feeling of hurt humiliation welled to fill the hollow in his chest. He hadn’t known what he was expecting when Dick returned but it hadn’t been this. Perhaps a fight followed by a final filling forgiveness, maybe an anticlimactic return to normality, but never a simple cold exclusion from a life carried on.

 

“Yeah,” he rasped and pushed the object into Dick’s hand. “Take it.”

 

The other man’s fingers closed around the object and brushed against his in a touch too soft to belong to a vigilante. “Thanks, Jason.”

 

He looked up and their eyes met.

 

He looked different from when he left but, on closer inspection, Jason was strangely relieved to see the familiar features were still mostly untouched. His hair still moved with strange feather lightness, his eyes were still a friendly wholesome blue, and his lips were still too full to belong to a man. There was a small silver scar under his chin that Jason remembered though he didn’t know when the other man had got it or how.

 

But despite the familiarity of his face his features were masked, and the gaze he returned, layered.

 

“You can go now, Jason. The little you looked upset a moment ago. You should sort that out.”

 

Jason looked away. “His name is Tim.” He walked out the door feeling even worse than the last time he had done so; months ago when Dick announced his departure. At least then there had been some hope of things returning to the way they were, something he could look forward to. Now, in the desolate wake of his anger, he stood on the precipice of a future void of that hope. All because of Roy Harper and… because of him.

 

He started out the door.

 

“Jason?”

 

He stopped. “What?”

 

Dick hesitated for a moment before he spoke. “Where’s Bruce? I… I want to talk to him about something. Is he in the cave?”

 

“He’s gone.”

 

Dick lifted and eyebrow. “Gone?”

 

“The alien took him.”

 

“I’m hoping that means Clark. He’s part of the pack now too, right? That’s going to be weird. The kid too. Where did they go? Was it Metropolis?” He seemed to catch himself. “When will he be back?” He added in a more serious tone.

 

Jason’s lip curled. “He didn’t even tell me when you were coming back. What makes you think he told me when he will?”

 

A reserved look filtered through the other man’s eyes. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” He slipped his phone into his pocket. “See you later.” The door closed with a decisive click.

 

Jason stood in the hallway. For the second time that day he felt like a puppet pulled along in a jaunty stagger by the uncanny movement of Dick’s voice. But now that feeling had been garnished with a nauseating sense of just having his strings cut by a puppeteer who sought to set him free but instead crippled him as his own limbs were too weak to work on their own.

 

He thought of the last week and the string of events that had already seared across his brain. The hazardous start to Bruce’s heat, Tim swinging at his side over Gotham in a flurry of red and yellow fabric, and finally Roy Harper standing in the entrance hall smelling of measly alpha, cigarettes, and Dick.

 

Every scrap of it had been full of now habitual mistrust and accusations except the time he spent with the kid; fighting, talking, and even their dumb game of chess. He’d thought when Dick came back all that would change. Dick would become the primary beta for the younger pack members, they would go on patrol together again, and the chaotic mess of misplacement would come to an end. He was wrong. Bruce still didn’t trust him, he’d failed Tim, and Dick had a… a boyfriend.

 

And even if he didn’t he hated him.

 

The thought hurt more than it should have. More than it had a right to.

 

But even _that_ didn't matter. Nothing he did, nothing he could do or felt mattered. Not when everyone but the kid treated him like the stray alpha, the rival, the bad guy... even when he was trying to be good, trying to be part of the pack. It didn't matter. It didn't matter how he acted, how hard he tried, because Bruce still didn't trust him and Dick... didn't care any more. At least when he had been acting out there had been a reason for the mistrust. At least then it had been justified. At least then Dick cared enough to actually talk to him, even if he was just to tell him off.

 

At least then... Dick had cared.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had some growing pains. I hope you like it.
> 
> Also, please note, a small chunk of chapter six got cut off when I copy pasted it over from my word processor and I only realised a little while ago. REALLY sorry about that. It has since been fixed and I have learnt my lesson: make sure EVERYTHING is highlighted before clicking copy. Also a proper proof read. That too.

The air was hot, sticky, and swayed above the road like a swarm of invisible maggots. In it the outlandish stench of cows, sweet dusty smell of dried corn, and the harsh odour of scorching tarmac settled around him in dense distinguishable layers; pressed into place by the oppressive heat pounding down from a glaring sun. Somewhere in the distance a train rolled into station with a clatter of wheels on rail.

 

Dry grass crunched under his boots as Clark approached. He cracked open a bottle of water and offered it with an apologetic grin.

 

“Tell me again,” Bruce rasped as he took the drink. “Why don’t we keep flying all the way to the farm?” He pressed the hard rim of plastic to his lips, tipped the bottle up, and swallowed the cool clean liquid as it splashed into his mouth.

 

“My dad always picks me up,” the other man said simply.

 

“Why?”

 

Clark smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “It just… our thing.”

 

“It isn’t my thing,” he rumbled. “What if someone recognises me?”

 

“Everyone else is on the other side of the street,” Clark pointed out.

 

He took another long draft from the bottle.

 

“You’re not _that_ famous, Bruce.”

 

“Famous or not I would rather not be here.”

 

Clark’s smile slipped slightly. “Is it really that bad?”

 

Bruce ran his eyes along the dusky coloured street once more. An assortment of local shops stood in an orderly line beside the road, an abundance of tattered American flags fluttered from street corners, and a collection of flies zigzagged through the air in broad lazy strokes. The people populating the streets looked suspiciously cheerful despite the parched press of the weather. A glittering white water tower proudly declared _Smallville_ in square black letters.

 

“You know,” Clark muttered. “You wouldn’t be so hot if you hadn’t worn long sleeves.”

 

“I would have frozen on the flight over here,” he replied crisply.

 

“I flew slowly,” he said uneasily. “You were alright weren’t you?”

 

Pointedly. “Because I wore cold weather clothes.”

 

“I have your clothes right here,” Clark swung the pack over his shoulder. “I can get something with short sleeves for you?”

 

He raised his eyebrows. “You want me to change on the main street?”

 

Clark blinked. “Shouldn’t I?”

 

“I’m an omega,” Bruce reminded him. “This is the mid west.”

 

“You have a very stereotypical view of my home town,” Clark said as he pulled open the pack. “We’re not all from the eighteen hundreds, you know. Besides, who’s going to know you’re an omega? You look more like an alpha from a distance.”

 

“So we’ll look like two gay alphas,” Bruce heard himself hiss. “They’ll stone us to death.”

 

Clark paused, his hand buried in the open pack. “Is that seriously what you think we’re like in Smallville?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then why?”

 

“Are you going to give me my fucking shirt or not?” He snapped.

 

The alpha fished out a simple grey top and meekly passed it to him, taking the water bottle in return.

 

Bruce. turned away from him and pulled his clothes over his head. He knew he was being unreasonably aggressive and easily agitated, but _damn it_ if that knowledge wasn’t making him worse. Everywhere he looked the calm normality seemed personally offensive, the sun jarringly bright, and the warm rustic colours simply grating. He was angry, he was irritated, and it had nothing to do with the oppressive heat or stiff body. It had nothing to do with Clark. It was because he was nervous and he knew the reason why. Clark’s Parents.

 

If Clark was going to remain his alpha, his mate, he wanted the approval of the couple that had raised him. From what little he’d been able to research about the Kents he could guess his wealth wouldn’t impress them so much as who he was. And who he was - the worst of who he was - was one Google search away.

 

They were on the buckle of the Bible Belt, in the middle of conservative USA, and he was a playboy billionaire famous for getting drunk and shoving his tongue into the mouths of alpha sex workers. Of course, he could explain that it wasn’t him – it wasn’t really – but then he would have to tell them about Batman and… Batman was no Superman. Explaining that he was a wanted criminal, a brutal vigilante, could inadvertently make the situation extensively worse.

 

He couldn’t mess this up. Clark was too important for that. He had to do something, to be something, he never had before; he needed to be a respectable omega. And that was almost more frightening than the prospect of his mate’s parents. Almost.

 

He pulled the lighter shirt down and passed his old top to Clark. The alpha took the clothing and twisted the fabric slowly between his fists.

 

“Bruce?”

 

“What?” He muttered.

 

“Are… we good?”

 

The question was small and softly spoken like a fleeting breath of wind gently stirring fallen leaves.

 

"What the fuck does that mean? You think I'm breaking up with you because I hesitate to take my top off in public? Christ Clark, why do you have to be such a drama q-?" he reigned in his nervous anger with a conscious force of will. "Yeah. Yeah, we're okay. Sorry. I'm just..." _fucking scared_ "...hot."

 

“Hot?" Clark tested the word. "Are you sure? Because you seemed... out of sorts before we left."

 

A low rumble. " _Out_ of sorts?"

 

"Yeah. Just... if you didn't want to come..."

 

“I said I would come here with you, didn’t I?” he interrupted.

 

The other man looked at him from behind thick brimmed glasses. “…yeah?”

 

“Then I’m fine.”

 

“That’s not... I…” he stopped, blinked, and with a broad smile waved at an approaching pick up truck.

 

Bruce felt his stomach twist as the aged red car rattled to a stop beside them. The handbrake creaked alarmingly as it was pulled on and the roar of the engine dulled to a low grumble as Clark bounded forward and pulled open the passenger side door.

 

“Hey Pa!”

 

“Hey my boy! Climb in. Your mother has made some ice cream. She’s not letting me near the stuff until you’ve taste tested it.”

 

“Ice cream?” Clark’s eyes sparkled. “What kind?”

 

“Chocolate and peanut butter.”

 

“Yes! What are we hanging round here for?” Clark swung the backpack off his shoulder and threw it into the car.

 

The man in it blinked in shock as he caught the black rucksack. “What’s this?”

 

“This,” Clark said as he grabbed Bruce’s wrist and hauled him towards the open door, “is my mate.”

 

Bruce’s stomach dropped. “You didn’t tell them I was coming?” He croaked.

 

Clark’s smile vanished. “I… it’s no big deal I…” a panicked look flashed across the alien’s eyes. “It’s okay,” he amended quickly. “Trust me, Bruce. It’s no big deal.”

 

Spoken from within the truck. “Bruce is it? Are you a Metropolis boy?”

 

“Gotham,” he replied.

 

“Reporter?”

 

“I’m in business.”

 

“Business, eh?” The old farmer sat back in his seat. “Well, ain’t that interesting.” A thoughtful pause. “Climb in Bruce. My name’s Jonathan. I’m Clark’s father.”

 

With a mixture of relief and trepidation Bruce grabbed the sides of the open doorway and swung into the seat beside the older man. Jonathan had passive grey eyes, deep set laugh lines, and large well used hands. His clothes below the knee were covered with a thick layer of dust, skin tanned a spotty brown, and scent the warm homely flavour of an aging beta. When they shook hands his palm was warm and rough.

 

Clark jumped in after him, pushed Bruce against the gearstick, and tugged the door closed behind him. It fell shut with a thunderous crash.

 

Immediately the young alpha began to talk animatedly about the changes of the town, ask after people Bruce had never heard of, and seriously discuss the issues of running the farm. Bruce noticed his accent thicken slightly as he spoke; the mid western drawl sneaking out of hiding to thicken and colour his vowels and lengthen a few words Bruce was used to hearing clipped.

 

As Jonathan dropped the handbrake and lurched away from the curb Clark’s hand settled on the inside of Bruce’s thigh. It was strangely possessive of him and further strengthened the theory that his parents would desire a more conventional mate for their son. If Clark was acting like a traditional alpha in front of his father Bruce could only assume it best to do the same and try to be a more classic omega.

 

It would be hard - one of the hardest things he'd ever done - but Clark was important enough, his parents were important enough, to make the effort. He would never kneel to an alpha. That he'd promised himself long ago. But he could put of the facade of submissiveness for a few days. He could pretend... he could. It was no big deal...

 

Clark and his father remained happily chatting until the car finally trundled through the wood and wire gate and into the Kent farm. A small flat house sat overshadowed by a massive red barn. Beyond, the fields were full of corn swaying slowly on long leafy brown stalks. As they parked a dog raced out of the house and bounded around the vehicle barking happily.

 

“Useless mutt,” Jonathan said fondly. “Never barks when strangers come.”

 

“He’s a stranger,” Clark pointed out, nodding at Bruce.

 

“You’re right! Hah! He’s getting better. Come on, boys, let’s get some ice cream.”

 

As they exited the car the dog startled and slunk closer to Bruce to sniff curiously at his fingers.

 

“This is Rusty,” Clark introduced him. “Shelby will be inside.” A sad smile. “She’s getting too old to leave the house much anymore, poor girl.”

 

They continued toward the house and were met at the door by a round faced woman with a knot of silver lined hair tied at the nape of her neck. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Clark.

 

“Hey Ma.”

 

“Welcome home, baby bear. I made ice cream.”

 

Clark laughed. “Pa told me.”

 

“He would,” she noticed Bruce for the first time and drew back in surprise. “Oh, hello.”

 

“This is Bruce, Ma. He’s my mate.”

 

“Your mate?” She said shocked.

 

“You didn’t tell them you had a mate either?” Bruce muttered scathingly.

 

His brow furrowed. “We’ve only been going out for a few months, Bruce.”

 

“He’s a businessman,” Jonathan interrupted before Bruce could push the matter further. “From Gotham.”

 

“Oh my,” the woman smiled. “What business are you in, Bruce?”

 

The question hung unanswered for a moment.

 

He took a deep breath. “My company is mostly involved in research and development used for industrial purposes but we also invest heavily in shipping, electronics, and medical as well as chemical refinement and ship building.” A long pause. “More personally I own a few sports stadiums, cruise liners, and some charities.”

 

“Wayne,” the woman muttered, her eyes lighting with recognition. “You’re Bruce Wayne. I’ve seen you on TV.”

 

He looked down and nodded.

 

“I… I wasn’t expecting… I’m afraid we don’t have anything here to the standard you’ll be used to, Mr Wayne. Are you planning to stay for the full weekend?”

 

He opened his mouth to reply, remembered the role he was meant to be playing, and cast a glance towards Clark.

 

The alpha blinked. “I think that’s the plan,” he told his mother uncertainly.

 

The woman’s eyes flicked between them for a moment before she nodded and stepped aside to usher them into the white walled house. Family pictures lined the walls, a cluster of sunflowers stood on the bench in a kitchen that looked like it hadn’t been refurbished since the seventies, and a white muzzled golden retriever thudded her tail welcomingly against the floor as she saw them enter.

 

“I’m Martha Kent,” Clark’s mother told him as Clark and Jonathan made their way into the kitchen and immediately started dolling out the ice cream. “I… oh dear… you’re practically royalty and this place is in such a mess.”

 

“It’s fine,” Bruce told her reflexively.

 

“You’re very kind to say so.” The woman said as she self-consciously straightened her shirt. “How did you and Clark meet? He’s never mentioned you before.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Clark look up, listening for his answer.

 

“Like Clark said we’ve only been dating for a few months,” Bruce avoided carefully.

 

His mate looked back down, his face hidden.

 

“I wouldn’t have guessed it,” she replied with a frown. “That bite on your neck looks much further along than that.”

 

A bond was a literal addiction; a mutual dependence between alpha and omega formed from frequently shared hormones. The only overt outward sign of a bond, or an intended bond, was the presence of the crescent shaped bite mark alphas would leave on an omega’s neck. As an omega’s addiction grew their body would react less to the unfamiliar chemicals pressed against their sensitive gland and thus the bite would become fainter and less intrusive. The first time Clark had bitten him the mark had been red and glaringly obvious. Now he left little more than a pink imprint on his flesh.

 

A full bond could take up to a year to form depending on the couple but the state of a bite mark was usually a pretty strong indicator of how long a mated pair had been together. Due to the amount of time together they shared, and the sex they had, before their mating bite it wasn’t that surprising that his body was further along in the bonding process than was typical for such a young relationship. He had been maintaining a one sided partial bond with Clark before the man had even sunk his teeth into his neck.

 

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” he answered softly.

 

A small frown creased her brow. “Oh.”

 

Jonathan strode passed him and into the sitting area. “Do you want some ice cream, Bruce?”

 

Clark appeared in front of him in a blur of colour and offered him a bowl. He didn’t want it. His stomach was still churning from the long flight and the strong sense of estranged displacement standing in the middle of the homely household. But he was an omega and his alpha was giving him food.

 

“Thank you,” he mumbled as he accepted the bowl.

 

He’d always been a good actor. He’d had to be. But it was physically challenging to force his body to walk, to move, and to behave like an omega when he’s spent most of his life training himself to do the exact opposite. Since he’d first discovered he was an omega he had bitterly forced himself to repress any and all omega behaviour he had caught himself conforming to. It was the reason why he was so absent from the public eye during his teens; he couldn’t trust himself around alphas until he was completely practised at controlling his reactions to them while also masking his caste. By the time he became Batman he could convince people he was a beta or an alpha by body language alone.

 

If he could do that, he told himself, he could be a different kind of omega for a few days.

 

He forced himself to shorten his strides, keep his head down, and trailed after Clark into the sitting room. His mate flopped onto an arm chair and startled when Bruce sat on the armrest beside him. He couldn’t bring himself to sit by his feet nor did the situation call for such a formal submission. After a moment’s hesitation Clark propped his dessert on his knee and wrapped his free arm around Bruce’s hips.

 

Bruce stayed quiet for the rest of the day and watched the activities of the household with withheld interest. Both Jonathan and Martha were betas and demonstrated this in their wholesome doting love they shared for Clark and their amazing work ethic. The farm wasn’t small and that the two of them maintained more or less alone was simply amazing.

 

After dinner he helped Martha carry the plates into the kitchen as Clark and his father talked animatedly about current affairs. The dogs padded after them and were rewarded with a plate of scraps.

 

“I was wondering, Bruce,” the woman began as she began to fill the sink. “We have a spare room with a bed in it. Do you want to stay there or will you want to stay in Clark’s room?”

 

The question took him off guard. He didn’t know what the right answer was. Should he want to be with Clark, or should he sleep apart from him? If he slept in Clark’s bed it could be seen as devotion and attachment… but also as disrespectful promiscuous behaviour between an unmarried couple. Despite the fact they were obviously having sex it just couldn’t be respectful to blatantly declare sexual activity in someone else’s home. It just couldn’t. Could it?

 

He glanced back into the main room where Clark was utterly absorbed in his conversation with Jonathan. “You’ll need to ask him.”

 

“No,” the woman pushed. “I’m asking you. Where do you want to sleep?”

 

He wanted to sleep with Clark. After the stiffly formal day it was all he wanted; to be able to collapse on top of his mate and finally relax away from the eyes of the other man’s parents. But, he thought miserably, that wasn’t what _she_ wanted.

 

“I’ll take the spare bed,” he said with a forced smile. “Those beds would be really crowded with two people and Clark always gets up so early.”

 

She studied him for a moment and then turned back to the dishes. “Okay. I’ll make up the bed for you.”

 

“Okay,” he replied dejectedly and furiously hoped this sickening plan was worth it.


	8. Chapter 8

Tim sat on a balcony, legs threaded through the railing, and looked down to where Dick and Roy were kissing goodbye at the end of the driveway. Even from a distance he could see that the exchange was open, sexual, and accompanied with a deliberately provocative placement of hands. The promise of their greedy embrace was both frightening and fascinating at the same time.

 

They’d had sex last night. He knew it the moment they’d walked into kitchen for breakfast. Jason had known it too. His lips had tightened, eyes rolled down to glare at his food, and hands clenched into white knuckled fists. It was their scent that gave it away. Not just because he could smell them on each other, but because of the explicit detail of their aromas; something Tim had never noticed before but had start noticing  _a lot_ over the last few days. Roy had smelt hot, wholesome, singularly satisfied. In contrast Dick and smelt warm, damp, and too sweet like his body was trying to emphasise the omega-like quality of his hormones.

 

Dick was a low level beta which meant – due to the fact the beta’s rank was measured in alpha hormones – he was closer to omega than alpha. Further down the spectrum than Alfred’s mid level but not quite across the line into low level omegahood. While the only omega in the pack was in a relationship he – as a beta – would instinctually start to fill the gap and behave more like an omega to keep the unmated alphas happy. Because that’s what betas were; the balancing agents that made packs possible. At least that was what he’d read online. Pack dynamics in practice, he was learning, were far more complicated than any theory.

 

He wondered if he was going to be a beta and if that meant waking up one morning and suddenly understanding all the subtleties of how packs work; how Bruce could be an omega and leader at the same time, how Dick could be so important but no one ever spoke about him, and why Jason was always on the very edge of everything even when he was being good. He wouldn’t mind that. It would be nice to _get_ everything. To be able to talk to people and not seem like a kid all the time. To instinctually understand.

 

He watched as the couple reluctantly broke apart, Roy kicked his motorbike into gear, and Dick waved as his partner disappeared out the barred manor gate.

 

If he was going to be a beta he wanted to be a low level just like Dick. Bruce trusted betas and low level betas were Jason’s favourite caste. He would like being Jason’s favourite caste.

 

Dick turned and began his slow walk back towards the manor. Tim quickly untangled his legs from the railing, scrambled to his feet, and waved eagerly as the man approached. He’d been waiting for him to shed his boyfriend all morning so they could begin. Dick saw him and with a crooked grin returned the wave.

 

He raced inside just as Dick entered several floors below. It took him less than five minutes to run down the stairs, sprint through the corridors, and run headlong into the young beta.

 

“Holy wow, you move fast,” Dick said with a laugh.

 

“Yeah!” He grinned. “That’s what we’re training in.”

 

Dick blinked. “Moving fast?”

 

“Movement.”

 

A small smile. “Not _quite_ the same thing, Timmy. Close though.” He went to step around him.

 

“Hey,” he grabbed a fistful of Dick’s sleeve. “Aren’t we going to train?”

 

Dick stopped. “You want to train with _me_?”

 

“I…” he licked his lips. “I thought you were training me. Bruce said you would.”

 

“Oh boy,” Dick fished his phone out of his pocket and quickly tapped the screen. “I knew something like this would happen.”

 

Tim stared up at him owlishly. “Something like what?”

 

Dick grimaced. “Bruce and I missed each other when I came back. My plane was late. Hold on, he’s not been answering but… he’s still not. Never mind.” Dick shoved the phone back in his pocket. “I knew there would be something buried in his massive pile of reports that would be important. That’s why I wanted to talk to him.”

 

Tim felt his heart hurtle towards his toes. “You mean…?”

 

The man looked apologetically down at him. “I could contact him on the emergency line but he would probably scalp me.”

 

“But he said…” Tim croaked, “…for Robin I…”

 

“Ha!” Dick clapped him on the shoulder. “I _knew_ you must be a Robin. No one’s been talking about it but I _knew_ it. So, Robin number three, eh? Welcome to the club. Oh, I’ve been dying to know, does Bruce still do that thing whe—”

 

He pushed the beta’s arm off and bolted from the room, swerving around Alfred on route. As he ran down the hallway he caught Dick’s startled voice pitched towards the other man, “Was it something I said?” then he was too far away to hear anymore.

 

He ran through the massive tangle of corridors until he found a room he’d never been in before. Cardboard boxes littered the floor, furniture stood hidden under simple white sheets, and dust settled on the window edge. An unassembled cot lay abandoned in pieces on the floor, the baby blue paint faded and chipped with age. He kicked the door closed, sat down in the corner, and hugged his knees to his chest.

 

He didn’t cry. He _wouldn’t_ cry. Crying was for babies. Instead he sat very still and rolled the string of bitter realisations through his brain until they heaped together in a single ball of humiliating hurt.

 

No body cared.

 

He wanted to be Robin. It was _all_ he wanted. It was _all_ he’d been asking for since the very beginning. But he was at the bottom of the pecking order, the runt, and no body took any notice of him. Bruce hadn’t cared enough to tell Dick, Dick hadn’t cared enough to read the reports, and Jason… Jason only tolerated him as long as he followed him around, and even then he shrugged him off the moment Dick came home…

 

…only to be shrugged of in turn by Dick. The thought occurred with traitorous cool reasoning. The tension between those two was fraught, messy, and excruciatingly obvious. The tension between Jason and Bruce was even worse. He didn't know the cause but he could guess and if he guessed right he may be able to enlist the angry young alpha to his cause. Slowly, an idea began to form. It was childish and short sighted but it might be his only chance, his last chance, to ever be Robin. To ever be a real, useful, part of the pack.

 

When the sun had set he stood, straightened his shirt, and stared at his reflection in the window. He looked small, his limbs narrow, and features delicate. His hair fell across his brow like water down rocks, a stark black against his pale skin, the only bold attribute on his entire body.

 

He made up his mind.

 

He sneaked out of the room and was surprised when he discovered he could smell Jason on the air. He usually had to be much closer to people to be able to scent them. But, he realised, Jason had passed by not too long ago in bare feet and left an obvious trail; his alpha hormones strong, earthy, and unmistakable. Tim took a deep breath of air and began to track him.

 

He followed him into a nearby empty room and down a secret door to the batcave Tim didn’t know existed. When he found him Jason was dampening. He knelt in a pool of scent sterilizing chemicals and scrubbed at his skin, masking his hearty alpha stench. After a while he ducked his head under the under the surface a few times, stood, shook like a dog, and walked towards where the uniforms stood in a line.

 

Tim crept down in the body of the cave careful not to...

 

Without turning around. “You reek kid.”

 

He swallowed the irrational sting of anger that rose up his throat. “I haven’t dampened yet,” he replied.

 

“Yet?” Jason turned around. “What do you mean, yet?”

 

He squared his shoulders and met Jason’s glare with one of his own. “I mean I haven’t dampened yet.”

 

Jason started to pull his armour on. “Nice try kid. You’re not coming with me.”

 

“Why not?!”

 

Low. “You know why not.”

 

“Because you want to patrol with Dick,” he concluded bitterly.

 

Jason’s eyes darkened. “This has nothing to do with Dick.”

 

“Don’t lie t—”

 

“This has nothing to do with Dick!” Jason’s voice echoed in the narrow space.

 

Tim flinched away from the angry sound, caught himself, and resolutely stood his ground.

 

“Fuck kid,” the alpha shook his head, “what the hell has gotten into you?”

 

“If it doesn’t have anything to do with Dick then…”

 

“It’s because the boss bitch said so, brat. You bloody well know that.”

 

He stepped forward. “And you listen to him?” Tim challenged, wishing his voice sounded as strong and powerful as Jason's.

 

"Huh," Jason’s eyes shone with a strange black, angry, light. “I do now.”

 

Desperately. “Why?!”

 

He frowned. “Where the fuck has this come from? You got a knot in your pants or something?” Jason pulled on his boots. “If you do go cry to one of the betas. I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

 

Tim stepped forward. “Take me with you.”

 

“No.”

 

“You have too,” he insisted.

 

Growled. “Why?”

 

“Why do you want to do what Bruce says?” He snapped back.

 

The man’s face barely moved as he replied. “Bruce is the leader.”

 

“You’re the alpha,” Tim challenged.

 

Jason remained silent, his eyes full of masked emotion.

 

Tim advanced towards him. It wasn’t easy to see but there, swimming in his eyes, was the reaction he was looking for; the one he needed. An angry defiance that he could use, that would undermine the alpha’s judgement, and that meant – if he said the right thing – he may be able to convince Jason to shrug aside Bruce’s order and take him out one last time.

 

He didn’t know the details but Jason was obviously a recently defeated rival. That suggested… “You could be a better leader you know. You would be if h—”

 

Jason snorted and turned away. “Yeah right, kid. We both know that’s utter bullshit.”

 

He quickly tried another tack. “He should be your omega! He’s high level, your high level, and you’re the top alpha in the pack. He should be yours and not Cla—”

 

“Nice try,” the alpha plucked the hood of the rack. “Got anything else?”

 

Tim raked his brain for another motive. Another reason why Jason could once have challenged Bruce. A reason that might lead him to defy him again. Something. Anything.

 

Jason snorted. “I didn’t think so.” Began to walk away.

 

Tim felt something inside him give and the tears he had refused to cry burnt hot behind his eyes. “Why do you fucking care?! I won’t… I won’t tell anyone. I just want to be Robin. Why won’t you let me be Robin?!”

 

Bluntly. “It’s not up to me.”

 

“Tonight it is!” Tim insisted. “Why the hell are you listening to him? He doesn’t care about you, just like he doesn’t care about me. He treats you the same no matter what you do. He doesn’t care about what you want. None of them care.” A long pause. “Not even you.”

 

Jason stood and watched him, his face unreadable.

 

Tim felt the last, silly, strings of hope snap. Despite all the time they'd spent together Jason didn't want him. He wanted to patrol with Dick, to hang out with Dick, to be friends with Dick. That's what he'd always wanted. Tim was just a substitute and now that Dick was back he didn't need him anymore.

 

“Fine.”

 

He stiffened in shock. “Really?”

 

Jason scowled. “I don’t bloody well lie, kid. Get ready. And dampen properly this time.”

 

“I will!" He cried happily. "I... I won’t let you down!”

 

"You betta not. Be on the bike in five minutes.”

 

He was there in three.

 

Hours later they were sprinting across the rooftops, Jason’s hood a stray point of colour in the grizzly grey landscape, and the weight of the grapple heavy in Tim’s hand. It felt fiercely good to be working as part of the pack again, even if it was just for one night, and even if it was just with Jason.

 

As Robin he was doing something worthwhile, something that would make a difference, and something that would bring him into the fold of the Wayne household if Bruce would only allow it.

 

But, even if Bruce didn’t, the simplistic instinctual feeling of _pack_ was enough to push aside all regrets for one night and race after the other man as he loped effortlessly between buildings. It was something he’d never really felt before, something he grew up without, but it was something he craved; a real pack. It was family, but it was stronger, and ultimately it was forged with a number of ties not just that of blood.

 

Jason paused on the edge of the rooftop and swore.

 

“What's wrong?” He said breathlessly as he moved up to stand beside him.

 

“I lost him…” Jason said in disbelief. “The fucker I…”

 

“He went that way,” Tim said quickly and took off again. “Come on!”

 

Jason spat out another vivid curse and followed him. “Since when could you fucking tell?!”

 

Tim inhaled, tasted the wafting scent of their prey, and ran after it. “He’s this way!”

 

“Where the hell is he, kid?! Where are you…” Jason’s voice trailed off as the man they were chasing darted out from behind a chimney stack. “Son of a bitch,” the alpha muttered and overtook Tim to tackle the man to the ground. He expertly smacked the criminal’s head against the cement rooftop. Thrashing limbs fell limb.

 

“Yeah!” Tim cheered. “I knew he’d come this way. I knew it!”

 

The silver eyes in the hood flashed as they turned towards him. “How did you know?”

 

“I could smell him,” Tim declared triumphantly and scratched the side of his neck. “It was hard but I could. Man he smells bad.”

 

Jason grunted. “Yeah, they’re the hard ones. Hard to track the ones that smell like shit through a city that smells like shit.”

 

“And I did it,” Tim said with a broad grin.

 

“Don’t get cocky,” Jason rumbled as he stripped the unconscious man of his stash and drug money.

 

“I can’t believe this guy almost outran us. What’s he doing selling drugs?”

 

“He’s probably a meta and doesn’t even know it,” Jason muttered.

 

“You think?” He asked, still scratching his neck.

 

Jason tore up the money as he straightened. “I reckon we do one more loop from Crime Alley, through the Narrows, and into the Bowery,” the man grunted. “Sweep up whatever crawled out after we were gone.”

 

“Then what?” He asked.

 

“It’s getting late, kid. Then we go and sleep.”

 

"Oh," he looked down, "okay."

 

Jason turned to lead the way and stopped, sniffed the air. “Fuck kid, didn’t I tell you to dampen properly?”

 

Tim blinked up at him. “W-what? I did! You saw me.”

 

“Well, then how come I can smell…” he froze.

 

“What?” Tim muttered.

 

Jason didn’t reply.

 

A nervous cord strung inside him. “What is it?”

 

“Why are you scratching your neck?” Jason growled.

 

He frowned. “It itches,” he replied.

 

Jason grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away from his throat. Tim yelled in protest and tried to pull away. His jaw was seized and head yanked back. "Fucking hell," Jason muttered.

 

He kicked at the other man’s knee and pulled himself free as Jason grunted in pain.

 

“What was that for?”

 

“We need to go back to the manor,” Jason said and reached for him again.

 

Tim ducked back. “Why?”

 

“We just do, now come on!”

 

He shuddered, hating the snarl in Jason’s voice, but held his ground. “What about going back around?”

 

“You can’t.”

 

He thrust his jaw defiantly forward. “Yes I can.”

 

“No,” Jason hissed. “You can’t.”

 

“We did it before,” reminded him. “I can do it again.”

 

“Fucking hell, kid, you got to…”

 

“I bet I’ll do it and catch even more than you,” he challenged and spun on his heel.

 

“Wait!” Jason cried and grabbed for his cape. Tim must have kicked him harder than he thought, or found a weak point in his armour, because he staggered as he leant on his leg. “Robin!”

 

“Come on Hood!” He called over his shoulder as he ran to the side of the building. “We’ll be finished before anyone even notices we’re gone!”

 

"Robin!"

 

He leapt off the side of the building, fired the grapple gun, and swung away into the night.


	9. Chapter 9

Clark couldn’t sleep.

 

He lay on his back, sprawled in a tangle of blue bedding, and stared up through the ceiling at the star drenched sky. From where he was he could see a valley in Mars that cut through the red land like a wound; broad, barren, and yawning like the planet had opened its mouth in a silent scream. On the very edge of that opening an explorer droid scampered over the rocks with clunky dexterity reminding him of a well fed mite wriggling through the fur on an afflicted animal. He focused on the small silver robot and watched as the sun reflected off it in sparkling flashes of rainbow light.

 

When he was a child he’d been transfixed by the colours in a rainbow. Both the colours humans named and others that they couldn’t see. He swore when he got married it would be to a girl in a rainbow dress. How strange that he’d fallen for a man in black.

 

A man who’s heart beat across the hall with simple insistent purpose.

 

The rhythmic movement of the other man’s most vital muscle sounded in symphony with the deep healthy whoosh of air moving in and out of his lungs; two instruments working together to underscore the most precious life on the planet.

 

He’d always loved the sound of Bruce’s heart. Even before he’d loved the man he’d marvelled at the simple strength of that organ thudding unhindered in his chest even as he performed the most intense physical manoeuvres. It had been an almost comforting presence as they faced foes together in the Justice League, a sure and strong reassurance that everything was okay even when Bruce was out of sight, and finally – over the last few months – a private joy he could indulge in as they slept together. But now he listened to it, to the familiar resting speed of the other man’s life source, and instead of being comforted, of being lulled to sleep, he felt strangely sick.

 

He knew Bruce hadn’t been keen on coming here - he knew that from the moment he requested it - but he never thought it would have thrown Bruce the way it did. The man had seemed off kilter from the moment they had landed in Smallville; swinging between nervous aggression and strangely submissive silence as they arrived on the farm.

 

But that had been okay. He had understood Bruce was trying to be there for him, trying to be respectful, and trying to blend into an environment clearly not his own. It had been okay.

 

Until Bruce told Ma he didn’t want to sleep with him.

 

Why would he say that? Was visiting his parents truly that terrible that he didn’t want to spend the night with him? Or had something else gone wrong? Had his anger when they arrived been due to something other than his obvious sense of misplacement? Had Clark upset Bruce in some other way he was unaware of? Was that why Bruce didn’t want to sleep with him? Was that why he didn’t want to meet his parents?

 

Because he was angry at him, because he was uncomfortable, or – Clark grimly considered – because he was losing interest? Maybe Bruce didn’t want to sleep with him, didn’t want to be here, because consciously or subconsciously he wasn’t planning on prolonging their relationship much longer.

 

Clark felt the idea drip into his brain like tar; slow, poisonous, and utterly irremovable.

 

He’d been afraid Bruce would push him away one day. That he would decide their relationship was too hard and too complicated to continue, and leave. Until now it had been a baseless fear, one that would pluck at his consciousness but also one that he could reject every night Bruce fell asleep beside him.

 

What could he have done wrong? Since receiving his ultimatum at the Daily Planet he had been pacifying the other man, touching him more, and trying to be the perfect mate in every way he knew how if only to prove to himself Bruce was worth the sacrifice he was going to make for him.

 

But now the omega was distancing himself from him.

 

And despite it his heart still sounded like the most beautiful thing on the planet; as absolutely vital for his survival as it was for Bruce.

 

He tried to tell himself that was just his addiction talking, and that it was better this way. It was better he found out now before he gave up the job he loved for him. It was better… even if it didn’t feel like it right then.

 

The world muttered sleepily in his ear; billions of lives unfolding all at once, beseeching him to bear witness to them as they echoed each other like a swarm of bees. But not matter how hard he tried none of those lives were quite as loud or as insistent as the simple beat of Bruce’s heart across the hall.

 

He raked his hand through his hair and stared blindly upwards into the starry expanse of the universe.

 

He needed to talk to him. He needed to sort this out. He needed to tell him that he loved him, respected him, and cared for him… no matter what he decided. No anger. Bruce had too many bad experiences with alphas as it was. He would rather die than become another one.

 

He clung to that resolution as the sun slowly rose and the radio turned on downstairs. Then - feeling more tired than he had felt in a long time - he rose, dressed, and padded downstairs for breakfast.

 

“We want to talk to you.”

 

Clark stopped and blinked at his adoptive father standing grimly by the small stove fireplace. In the heat of the season the wood fire had been replaced with bundles of corn wrapped and left to dry. His mother sat on a chair and fingered the frayed edges of an old romance novel.

 

“What about?” He asked.

 

“Bruce,” Jonathan answered.

 

Clark felt the weight of his partner’s name settle like an accusation between them. Despite his own reservations, despite what had kept him up all night, he felt a surge of alpha protectiveness at the mention of the other man matched with their serious expressions.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“We need to talk about Bruce,” Martha said softly.

 

“Why?” He muttered defensively.

 

She frowned and deliberately stopped ripping the edges of her book. “We have some… concerns, Clark.”

 

“What concerns?” Clark heard himself growl.

 

“How long have you known him,” Jonathan took the reins. “Really.”

 

“Years,” he snapped. “I’ve known him for years now.”

 

Martha blinked in surprise. Jonathan ploughed on. “In what way, boy? Clark Kent? Or Superman?”

 

“Both! I… What’s wrong?” He demanded. “Don’t you like him?”

 

“It’s not that we don’t like him, baby bear,” Martha said gently. “It’s just… well… he has a reputation and he is an _awfully_ high level omega.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“It’s just… high level omegas tend to… favour high level alphas,” she said slowly. “And he’s, well, a billionaire.”

 

“So?”

 

“Look at this from our perspective for a moment, Clark,” Jonathan said. “You never mentioned him before you announced your bonding and he has every weapon in the world to pick and choose any alpha he wants. You’re a reporter and a mid level alpha. You’re also… Superman.”

 

Again. “So?”

 

“We’re just worried he’s using you, Clark,” Martha said. “Bruce Wayne does have a reputation and Superman would be… quite the notch in the bedpost. How do you know he’s not just after bragging rights? How do you know, if this all ends badly, he won’t reveal who you are out of spite?”

 

“Why would he bond with me? He would just…”

 

“Bonds are proof that he didn’t just let you take him, he _had_ you,” Jonathan rumbled. “An omega like that can get any alpha he wants into his bed. Getting a bond is something else.”

 

Clark was shaking his head. “No. Trust me, pa. That’s not what’s going on.”

 

“He might not even realise it,” Jonathan persisted. “Omegas can be short sighted and frivolous when it comes to mates. It’s their hormones. They just don’t have as… as stable a grip on their emotions or…”

 

“Pa!”

 

Jonathan blinked in surprise.

 

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Clark challenged him. “I… pa I… I _can’t_ believe it. You’re the guy that taught me… you’re the guy that used to hire Pete to do the accounting and didn’t give a damn about what those idiots in town said.”

 

Martha looked beseechingly up at him. “Pete was a strong boy, Clark. He was good. Not all omegas are like that.” She looked down at her hands. “We trust your judgement, Clark, we do…”

 

“Really?”

 

“ _But_ ,” she ploughed on pointedly. “We looked him up and after meeting him yesterday…”

 

“He was bending over backwards to be respectable for you yesterday!”

 

“We’re worried you might be addicted rather than in love,” Martha finished. “By all accounts he is either a… a party boy or airy and detached like he was last night. He doesn’t seem very _there_ Clark, nor was he proactive or vocal, and it is so unlike you to be with someone like that.”

 

“You like powerful partners,” his father explained. “Lana. Lois. We’ve always admired that, and knew whether you ended up with alpha, beta, or omega; whether you ended up with a man or a woman; you would have someone who could stand as an equal by your side. Someone who could be a true partner, a team member, rather than just…”

 

“I…” Clark was speechless. “I… you’ve got it all wrong.”

 

“Maybe we do, Clark,” Martha said softly. “But we want to make sure he’s not… manipulating you.”

 

“He’s not,” Clark insisted. “He’s…” his own doubts frothed back to the surface like sewerage in the sea. “I-I know he’s been a bit distant but… but…” he swallowed. “He’s not who the internet says he is and he’s not manipulating me. Please don’t think that of him. Please.”

 

The couple looked at each other and a silent message passed between their eyes.

 

With a heavy sigh Jonathan thrust his hands into his pockets. “You are well past old enough to make your own judgements, my boy. If you trust him then so will we. But don’t be afraid to talk to us no matter what happens. We’re here.”

 

“Always,” Martha added.

 

He felt his heart twist. “I know,” he croaked. “And I know I haven’t been… I should have told you I had a mate. I’m sorry.”

 

The pair smiled.

 

“Apology accepted, son.”

 

“As long as you keep us up to date,” his mother said. “We worry about you and now that you’ve got a mate things are going to get busier. You’re going to have to take care of him and, lord knows it, he’s going to have to take care of you.”

 

A dejected smile. “He usually does.”

 

“Well,” Jonathan declared. “That’s honestly a relief to hear.”

 

He felt the last shed of his defensiveness bubble out of him leaving him hollow and helplessly unmasked. He swallowed, forced a smile, and turned to make his way into the kitchen.

 

“Clark?”

 

“Yes Ma?”

 

“Is he in a pack at all?”

 

The question was interlaced with worry.

 

He frowned and looked back at his mother still sitting in the cavernous embrace of her favourite armchair. “Yes. Is that… bad?”

 

“No, gosh no,” she waved away the question. “I was just wondering, are you part of that pack?”

 

“I… I suppose.”

 

“Hormonally?”

 

“Not really,” he answered confused. “I mean, I’m new, but I guess I will pack bond with them one day.”

 

“But you don’t have any pack bonds?” The woman pressed. “Not even perspective ones?”

 

“No,” he said with a frown. “Not yet.”

 

“Have you ever had a pack bond?” His father asked.

 

He shifted nervously. “No… I mean… is it… important?”

 

The man sighed. “We never made an issue out of this when you were a boy, Clark, but you must know that is strange. I know we’ve never been a pack - us three - but even in high school you were always a lone wolf.”

 

“I had friends.”

 

“Yet you never formed a pack. Not even then. You say the Justice League isn’t a pack, nor the workers on the Daily Planet, and…” he tried a different tack. “You can clearly bond. The mark on Bruce is evident enough of that. But, we were wondering, if you had finally formed one or… or perhaps if that was impossible.”

 

He stared at him.

 

“You are an alien, Clark. The differences, thankfully, for the most part are subtle but they are there.”

 

Tim rose unbidden to his mind. Despite entering the pack later than Clark he was, undoubtedly, more integrated. He had a clear bond with Jason and Alfred and would no doubt quickly establish one with Dick. He was pack in a way Clark was yet to be. Perhaps in a way Clark was _unable_ to be…

 

Bruce’s words from a few days ago circled back through his mind, cold and condemning. _Where’s your alpha instinct?_

 

He had alpha instincts. He did. He felt them with Bruce and… but they weren’t _pack_ alpha instincts. He’d never really had pack alpha instincts.

 

What if this was why Bruce was distancing himself from him? The pack was, undoubtedly, one of the most important things in the world to Bruce. It was his family, his team, and if he was subconsciously reacting to Clark’s detachment… No. This was ridiculous. Kryptonians _had_ to have packs. How else would they have evolved? How would they have raised the children? How else… the question stuttered and died inside him. The answer was sitting right in front of him. His parents weren’t part of any pack yet they had raised him. It wasn’t an uncommon state when they both had such distant family but neither was it optimum.

 

He thought of when Zod had attacked. All the Kryptonians had been alphas which would make sense if they didn’t form packs. Betas simply wouldn’t exist, there would be no need of them, and since Krypton switched to artificial birth there would be no need for omegas either. That was why both his biological parents were alphas and why his birth, a natural birth, was so rare.

 

It made sense. Too much sense.

 

“I… I don’t think…” he tried desperately. “I…”

 

Upstairs Bruce’s phone rung. The man woke with a muffled curse and groped for the offending object.

 

“It’s okay, Clark,” his mother continued gently. “We’re probably wrong and even if we’re not a family pack will understand and love you for who you are.”

 

“I…” he croaked through the swirl of treacherous thoughts.

 

Upstairs. “What is it Alfred?”

 

“I… I have to go,” Clark stammered. “I’m sorry I…” He flew away, his unfinished sentence trailing from his lips like the smudged words in a ruined book.

 

He flew until the piebald patchwork landscape gave way to rolling green forest which in turn surrendered to a stark expanse of impossibly white ice. The Fortress of Solitude stood like a crown on top of the world; crystal prongs thrusting upward in a bold exhibition of alien architecture.

 

Despite what others had told him he had never thought it beautiful.

 

Clark dove inside and landed on the icy floor hard enough to send a spider web of cracks shooting from his feet. The walls shimmered with a million misty memories, air fogged as it left his lips, and control panel glowed and eerie unearthly blue.

 

“Jor-El!”

 

The air before him twitched, shivered, and blazed with colour as the Fortress assembled the requested program. He watched as a billion tiny beams of light shot from the walls to collide and form the figure of his alien father.

 

Jor-El’s forehead was bound in a simple silver ringlet, his clothing fell off his shoulders in a green and red robe, and emblazed across his chest the familiar S shaped crest of his house sat like a declaration; bold and abrupt.

 

“ _Greetings, Kal-El_ ,” the hologram said in Kryptonian.

 

He didn’t waste time. “Can I pack bond?”

 

His Jor-El gazed at him with ugly unnatural blue eyes as the Fortress reconfigured to English.

 

“Answer me!”

 

“No,” the hologram spoke. “You can not.”

 

The words hit him like a kryptonite bullet; small, sharp, and slicing into him with agonising ease. “Why?” He rasped.

 

“You do not possess the ability to pack bond,” Jor-El said coolly. “It is not necessary for our kind.”

 

His hands balled into fists. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

 

Simply. “It was not required information nor have you previously asked for it.” A heavy silence. “It is unfortunate, Kal-El, that your mother and I were forced to send you to a planet where such perversions were common place but we were comfor—”

 

“ _Deactivate_ _Jor-El,_ ” Clark ordered in Kryptonian. Instantly the man standing before him winked out of existence. When he was younger he had loved Jor-El. He was proof his parents had cared for him, that he wasn’t abandoned, and a last link to his people. A part of him still craved those assurances but another part, a stronger part, had long since seen Jor-El for what he was; programming. He was not the father that had saved him despite the sophisticated response systems and body reconstruction. He didn’t love Jor-El anymore. That distance didn’t make the knowledge any easier.

 

He sat on the frozen floor and hugged his knees to his chest.

 

Pack bonds were just a hormonal recognition born of small scale chemical exchange that drew families and friends together. But, while small, they were the difference between a group of people and a pack, and packs were important. Bruce’s pack was unspeakably so. It was his mate’s team, his family, and a lot more besides. If Clark could never be a part of that he was depriving Bruce the chance, the pleasure, of having a fully integrated mate. Someone who could be there for his pack as instinctually as he was there for him.

 

He couldn’t be so selfish as to deny him that.

 

Because that must be what Bruce was craving, what he was missing, why he was distancing himself.

 

God…

 

He… he needed to talk to him. He needed to explain it was okay. He needed to let Bruce know and offer him his way out. Only now it would be easy not to be angry because, he realised dismally, it was his fault all thanks to his damnable alien biology.

 

He picked himself up, straightened his shoulders, and with a deep breath began the slow flight back to the farm.

 

When he arrived, to his surprise, Bruce was standing on the porch in the warm clothes he wore while Clark flew with him.

 

“Bruce I…”

 

The man’s eyes snapped to his and a flicker of relief passed behind his gaze. “Clark.”

 

He sucked in a deep breath. “We need to ta—”

 

“You need to take me back to Gotham.”

 

He stared. “Wh—”

 

“Tim and Jason went on patrol last night. They never came back.”

 

Without another word Clark scooped the other man up in his arms and bolted back towards the smog covered city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that (a) Clark went from one track of unsubstantiated internal drama to another track of unsubstantiated internal drama and (b) for presenting yet another issue that can be solved by them sitting down and talking about it over iced tea. I hope everyone's amazing lack of communication isn't too frustrating.


	10. Chapter 10

Bruce sat in the cave and stared hopelessly at the multitude of morning news reports streaming live across the screens. A lot had happened last night. The President had signed a bill, a coal company had started construction on a private pipeline, and rows of red lipped celebrities had won identical awards. There was no news announcing the death or capture of two infamous vigilantes. The absence of information was both relief and torture. He numbly plugged the next safe house number into the keyboard. It rang a painful seven times before disconnecting with an apologetic answering machine.

 

Beside him Alfred was working up the same list from the bottom on a mobile; retrying every connectible house, bunker, and cave scattered across the city as if the first failed attempts were just a sick dream and their missing pack mates would answer on the next ring. Clark hovered behind him still in the tattered plaid shirt and dusky jeans he’d worn at the farm. Dick stood nearby chewing the nail off his thumb.

 

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?” The young beta asked, hand still against his teeth. “I could go out and look.”

 

“They took their trackers off before they left,” the butler reminded him gently. “Gotham is too big, Master Richard.”

 

“I know but…” Dick tore his fingers from his teeth and raked his hand through his hair. “Have we called the police yet? What about Catwoman? She’s in town again, isn’t she? And she’s always got an ear to the ground.”

 

“The police haven’t found them and Selina will in heat,” Bruce muttered as he typed in the next number. “She won’t know anything.”

 

Alfred started dialling a new number as Bruce’s call remained active the standard number of second and went dead on screen, unanswered. He stared at the missed call icon feeling utterly, wretchedly, useless. In another twenty three minutes Jason and Tim will have been gone for ten hours. Jason had died in less time.

 

“What about Dr Tompkins? If one of them got hurt they might have gone to her clinic.”

 

“We’ve already phoned her,” Clark said.

 

Bruce typed his last number and hit call. It was the batcave under Arkham Asylum. He didn’t even think Jason knew of its existence or if it was programmed to open to him but he was getting desperate. Predictably the line was unresponsive and dropped after the allocated length of time had expired.

 

Beside him Alfred put down the phone having met a similar defeat.

 

The following silence was thick enough to choke on.

 

Without turning around Bruce knew they were all looking to him; all waiting for his decision; waiting silently for him to tell them what they were going to do next. He was the leader and it was up to him to lead them in times like this. It seemed sickeningly unfitting that they would still look at him in the wake of what had happened. If he was a better leader, one that deserved their devotion, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

 

He hadn’t thought Tim would disobey him, he hadn’t seriously thought Jason would still be a threat to his authority, and he hadn’t thought they would wait until he was gone to go out behind his back. But, worst of all, he hadn’t seriously thought if they did go out they might not come back.

 

The worst part was not knowing why. Had they been hurt, killed, or had they runaway? If they had runaway where did they go and why would Jason take Tim? Why would Tim follow Jason? Had he truly failed them both so horrendously that they would be willing to just… leave?

 

“Master Bruce?”

 

He looked up and into the aged blue eyes of the older beta. Alfred stood beside him like he always did; holding him up like a keystone holds up a building; small, simple, but utterly unspeakably necessary. Bruce wrangled what little sense of comfort and control he could from the other man’s presence and kicked the chair around to face his gutted pack.

 

“Clark.”

 

Softly. “Yes, Bruce?”

 

“Can you make a sweep through the Narrows, Bowery, and Diamond District? See if you can find their heartbeats?”

 

It was a desperate move. Clark’s chance of picking out and distinguishing a heartbeat from among the millions of moving people clogging up the city was slim at best. But he could still cover in seconds what would take the rest of them hours to work through. And, if there was an unforseen threat lurking in the street, Clark was the most equipped to handle it.

 

“Show me a map,” the man replied.

 

Bruce tapped the keyboard and quickly brought up an aerial image of Gotham City. “We rarely go as far as the old Ace Chemicals plant,” he said as Clark scrutinised the rendered reconfiguration of his city, “but they might of if they were chasing someone in particular. In the other direction the biggest red light district is here, Crime Alley is here, and we usually turn back before we hit Main St here.” He stared at the scene a little longer. “They could have gone to another point entirely but that’s where Jason usually likes to patrol. In and around the Narrows.”

 

“Right,” Clark said as his pupils flicked once more between the street names.

 

“Are you wearing your Justice League communicator?” Bruce asked.

 

“Always.”

 

“Good. I’ll call you if they come back.”

 

Clark nodded and vanished with a whoosh of misplaced air.

 

“Fucking hell,” Dick said under his breath and turned away. “Fucking hell.”

 

Alfred stepped forward to comfort the younger man. The contact lasted mere moments before Dick shrugged him off. “Jason’s a fucking idiot but he’s not… he’s not the type to just disappear,” he said to no one in particular, voice horse and strained. “He wouldn’t do that…” a broken breath. “He wouldn’t.”

 

A weighted silence.

 

Dick’s composure collapsed under the layered looks of his remaining pack mates. “He wouldn’t do that!”

 

“You don’t know what he would and would not do,” Bruce rumbled as he pushed himself to his feet, eyes resolutely away from the map of Gotham still sprawled across the computer screens.

 

To his surprise Dick snagged onto his dismissive tone like a thorny bush; bitterly and bloodily refusing to be swept aside.

 

“I know Jason a hell of a lot better than you do, Bruce,” the young man snapped. “He wouldn’t just leave and he wouldn’t take the kid into more danger than he could handle. If I had gone missing you would never—”

 

“You’re not Jason,” he growled.

 

“No, I’m not an _alpha_!” The words - the accusation - echoed through the cave like rocks down the side of a mountain; dangerous, damaging, and libel to drag down the whole peak after them.

 

The bats tittered nervously and a few took wing to disappear deeper into the body of the cave.

 

“Master Richard,” Alfred said softly. “Now is not the time.”

 

“No,” Dick said to the other man. “Now is the perfect time. You know it as well as any of us, Alfred. He’s always hated alphas and it’s all because he’s always hated being an omega.” He spun back to Bruce, face flushed with emotion. “Because you have, haven’t you? You hate being an omega, you hate that you’re such a typical omega that _wants_ alphas, and so you hate alphas.” A horse laugh. “That’s why Clark had to lean over your neck for years before you let him bite you and why you and Selina could never work! You hate alphas and now you blame the easy to blame alpha so you don’t have to have a God damned human emotion!”

 

He swallowed the snarl that tried to sneak across his lips and cast his gaze to Alfred for support. The beta was watching him intently; his presence a calm but firm push for diplomacy. Bruce crushed down his instinctual defensive aggression, gathered himself, and looked back towards the younger man. Dick couldn’t hold his gaze.

 

Low. “What do you want me to do, Dick?”

 

Dick flinched and turned his head away. “Fucking hell,” he croaked.

 

“I know I've failed you. I know my leadership…”

 

“No,” he stopped him. “No, you idiot that’s not… that’s not it. That’s got nothing to do with it.”

 

Bruce looked at him feeling as out of place as he had been at the Kent farm and as helpless as he had been when Clark landed him down into the empty cave an hour before.

 

“Jason wouldn’t just leave,” the man reaffirmed weakly. “He wouldn’t. He’s better than that. I know he hasn’t… hasn’t proven it in the past but he is.”

 

A heavy silence.

 

“I know him,” Dick said once more. “I do.”

 

Another elongated pause; unnatural and wrong.

 

Dick hugged his sides, turned away, and without another word walked out of the cave in a stiff slow stride.

 

Bruce watched him leave with an unsettling uncertainty to what he really intended to do.

 

“What are we going to do, Alfred?”

 

A long pause. “I don’t know, Master Bruce.”

 

He rubbed his forehead as he heard the door to the manor close with a heavy doable click behind Dick. “We need to think,” he declared. “What could have happened? What could have gone wrong?”

 

Again. “I don’t know.”

 

He sighed, turned back to the computer to reset the news reports, and tried to content himself with the knowledge that the second anyone else knew something about this, they would as well.

 

“I think the only thing we can do is wait.”

 

“I know,” Bruce muttered.

 

“You have done everything you could, sir.”

 

He let the silence settle around them; more conclusive as any denial he could have uttered.

 

Alfred sighed.

 

The time slipped by at the speed of a glacier. Bruce flicked through all the open criminal cases, the security footage of the boys’ fugitive departure, and kept every monitoring feed available alive. When that didn’t seem enough he set the computer to register if any phone calls it had access too mentioned the words ‘Robin’ and ‘Red Hood’. The results were as gapingly empty and nonconclusive as the string of unanswered calls.

 

He never spoke it aloud but he hoped Alfred was acutely aware of how much his presence, even in silence, helped him as he waited. Alfred’s presence in this house was as intrinsic and unchanging as the architecture and wholly more important. He was his carer when his parents died, the first member of this unexpected pack, and the spine that kept everything upright when everyone else collapsed.

 

Alfred’s presence somehow made the disaster they were in tolerable and, even if he couldn’t say it, he was grateful.

 

Tim and Jason were gone for ten hours and twenty three minutes when they returned.

 

The familiar automatic whine of the bike undercut with the engine’s guttural grumble filled the cave, tugging him to attention as if a puppet on wires, and sending a wave of relief, apprehension, and reactive protective anger through him. He turned on his heel and strode towards where the vehicle was sliding into station, Alfred moving promptly at his side.

 

Both boys were on the bike, still in costume, and looking like they’d just climbed out of the trenches. Tim was on the front, forehead resting on his folded arms planted between the handlebars, and legs hanging limply off the sides. Jason sat squarely on the saddle, knees high to stop the boy from falling, and one hand tangled in the boy’s cape for the same purpose.

 

“What happened?” Bruce heard himself say as Jason turned off the bike.

 

The alpha pulled off his hood, shook sweet mangled hair from his face, and tossed it aside.

 

“Fuck if I know,” he husked.

 

Even from a distance Bruce could see the exhaustion weighing heavily on his features. His eyes were newly lined and listless, skin pinched, and there was a new bruise flaring purple and red along the edge of his jaw. His skin seemed pale and hung too heavy on his skull.

 

Jason swung himself off the bike and immediately the boy jerked up and looked around frantically.

 

“Jay? Where…” his eyes found and focused on the older man with intoxicated slowness and he visibly calmed. “Oh. There you are.” His cheeks were red, lips bloody from where he’d bitten them, and eyes dilated. Groggily. “Why did we stop?”

 

“Where were you?” Bruce growled striding closer.

 

“I don’t fucking know,” Jason snapped and pressed his palm against his forehead. “It took my ages to catch the kid, then I had to fight off some strays, and then I tried to contact you but one of the fuckers damaged my communicator when he hit me and _fuck it_ but I don’t want to report to you right now.”

 

He moved to step around him. Bruce shouldered him back towards the bike. “You’re not going anywhere until…” he smelt it. He smelt _him_.

 

Tim was scenting.

 

No. Not just scenting. He was _heating_.

 

The sticky sweet aura rose of the boy like a mushroom cloud; quickly filling the space with a pungent promise, saturating the air, and streaming from a swollen red omega gland implanted on the side of his neck.

 

The boy swung his legs off the bike, lurched clumsily onto his feet, and once again looked around for the alpha. There was an instinctual dependence in the gesture that Bruce keenly knew; it was an old enemy of his, a weakness, that he had spent years eradicating from himself. A weakness that had recently threatened to wriggle back to life when Clark was late to his heat.

 

Bruce’s horror exploded in a poisonous froth of twisted anger as a sickening sea of scenarios raced through his head. With a savage snarl he drove Jason hard against one of the cave pillars. The young alpha collided with a solid thump and an angry grunt of pain.

 

“What have you done?!” Bruce yelled.

 

Jason’s eyes were jet black and baneful. “I saved the kid,” he hissed.

 

“Where the hell were you?!”

 

Jason twitched and shivered. A shark scenting blood, a crocodile before a frenzy, a cat preparing to pounce. “I already fucking told you,” he growled between gritted teeth. “Get out of my face.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alfred capture Tim, sit him down, and quickly start checking his temperature, hydration, and patting him down to make sure he wasn’t hurt. The boy blinked in confusion as he finally registered where he was and what was happening around him.

 

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Bruce snarled. “Why the hell you were gone for ten and half hours and when he’s—”

 

“I don’t fucking know what happened you stupid bitch! I already told you!”

 

Bruce peeled back his lips in a savage snarl and moved to strike him.

 

“Don’t!”

 

He stopped.

 

Tim tried to step forward and was pushed gently but firmly back by the butler. “I was the one that made him take me on patrol, Bruce. I’m sorry. I…” he flinched and hugged his side. “I didn’t think I would get sick…”

 

“You’re in heat, young master,” Alfred told him gently.

 

“No,” the croaked boy shook his head. “No. I can’t be in heat. Only omegas go into heat.”

 

Bruce frowned and turned back to the panting alpha. “What did you—?”

 

“I said get out of my face!” Jason roared and shoved him off him. Bruce lurched back and had just enough time to regain his footing before Jason hurled himself at him, teeth flashing, eyes swirling with festered emotion, and scent too hot, too strong, and keenly, furiously, unsatisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea if this chapter is any good or not. I'm in a very weird head space with it. I hope you enjoy it all the same.
> 
> On a side note. Is anyone here into rp? I've been really wanting to dip into some less intense omegaverse to try and, well, experience omegaverse AND writing somewhere other than this story once in a while. I think rping is the way to do it. I even signed up for an rp game on tumblr but, alas, I am one of the only few on this game. If any of you are interested in kick starting it pop over and maybe we can rp some time: [RPG](http://omegaverserpg.tumblr.com/)


	11. Chapter 11

Every bone in his body felt like it had been pumped full of industrial foam. His limbs were stiff and heavy, skull uncomfortably tight, and fingers thick and clumsy as he curled his hand into a fist and dove towards the other man. The movement was slow; weighed down with exhaustion, aching hunger, and a dizzying overdose of his own alpha hormones; but it still caught Bruce by surprise.

 

They fell in a tangle of limbs and to the soundtrack of the Tim’s voice raised in alarm and Alfred’s footsteps as he pulled the boy away from them.

 

Jason snarled down at the other man, driven by the gross excess of unsatisfied alpha in his blood, and a lump of festered emotion. He saw the omega only in pieces; his eyes, tiny twin points of targeted black rimmed with bleak grey blue; his teeth, flashing an ugly white in the stark light of the cave; and finally the bite on his neck, a faint pink mark almost lost in the shadow of his stubble spilling off his chin. He hated that. He hated how little Bruce was reacting to the other alpha’s teeth, how quickly the pair were bonding, and that Bruce trusted Clark so impeccably – enough to let the alien bite him – while he still wouldn’t trust him despite how hard he had been trying.

 

He’d been trying to be a good pack member. He had. But even after the last few months Bruce still treated him like a threat, Clark and Alfred gave him a coldly wide berth, and Dick simply didn’t care. He didn’t even care enough to be here after they’d been missing for so long. He probably was too busy with Roy to even notice they were gone. The thought was like poison in his brain. At least before he had deserved the mistrust. At least before he had deserved to be shouldered off to the corner of the pack. At least before Dick had _cared_.

 

Everything had been better before… and so he attacked Bruce.

 

He attacked him with a mindless aggression born of the excess hormones in his blood, he attacked him in a desperate attempt to knock the accusation out of those cold eyes, and he attacked him in a crazed bid for life to return to the way it was before the last time they had fought.

 

Bruce didn’t waste time.

 

He blocked Jason’s first swing, knocked aside his second, and drove the heel of his palm hard against Jason’s sternum. The blow sent a spike of jarring pain though his ribs and forced the air from his lungs. As he struggled to regain his breath the omega rolled him off him with a firm shove. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bruce kick up from his back onto his feet.

 

His vision swirled, chest ached, and the taste of alpha clumped thick and bitter inside his mouth; a festering reminder of the last few messed up hours dragging the kid across the city in a pungent cloud of first time pheromones.

 

He still couldn’t really wrap his head around the fact that the kid was an omega. It felt like some kind of sick joke made at his expense. Jason Todd, high level alpha, and the only omega who he’d ever cared for during a heat with was the kid. Tim was just a kid, he was _the kid_ , and he was in heat. Even if he had been older, Jason thought, he would still be the kid to him and that just made the whole situation all the more twisted and torturous.

 

For the first few hours it had been okay. After he had caught Tim and fought off some stray alphas trailing sleepily after the scent he had broken into an empty hotel room and dumped the struggling boy on one of the two beds. There he had tried to explain to him what has happening to him. Tim hadn’t believed him and Jason hadn’t blamed him. He hardly believed it himself.

 

After that it had been worse. Tim had lapsed into high heat and Jason had been left trying to contact the cave only to discover he’d damaged his communicator at some point during the night. He could have left to look for a phone but they weren’t really checked into the hotel and without the key the door wouldn’t lock from the outside. With the cardboard thin walls and all the noise Tim was making thrashing and groaning on the bed Jason didn’t think it would be safe to leave the kid alone.

 

Even if the room had been more secure, even if it had been a proper nest, there were too many stray alphas prowling the streets and a few hours before sunrise Tim pulled a Bruce and tried to walk out of the makeshift nest. Even in heat the kid was fast. It was only due to his hesitation before the door that Jason had been able to catch him and drag him bodily back to the bed.

 

After that Tim had finally fallen asleep only to wake hours later dehydrated and looking worse than when he fell asleep. It wasn’t safe to stay in the hotel and Jason had reluctantly taken the brief break in Tim’s heat to tip half a gallon of water down the kid’s throat and drag him from the room so they could steal enough over the counter suppressants to get him back to the cave.

 

In short it had been fucking hell.

 

The worst part was the questions. Even when his heat smelt the highest Tim would curl into a ball, hug his middle, and ask him why they couldn’t go home, why he hadn’t let him fight the wandering alphas, and why he wasn’t allowed outside.

 

“Get up, Jason.”

 

He growled blindly over his shoulder but couldn’t find the willpower to levy himself to his feet.

 

Bruce’s hand gripped the back of his jacket collar and hauled him back onto his knees.

 

“Talk to me, Jason,” the omega growled. “What did you do to the boy?”

 

Through gritted teeth. “He’s a kid you sick fuck.”

 

Low. “What happened?”

 

“Nothing!”

 

“I highly doubt Timothy has been touched, Master Bruce,” Alfred said quickly. “His scent is his own and Master Jason looks like his hormones are peaking.”

 

An alpha’s hormone output would go up in the vicinity of a heating omega. If the alpha remained in close proximity without mating the omega those hormones would eventually peak. Excess alpha hormone caused aggression, impaired inhibitions, and increased sexual arousal. He didn’t feel bloody well aroused, Jason thought bitterly and spat some of the excess alpha saliva from his mouth.

 

“Tim’s too coherent,” Bruce snapped. “He has to have some alpha hormone in him.” He didn’t sound sure of his own conclusion.

 

“I would hazard a guess he’s been on suppressants,” the butler said. “And remember not all omegas are high level. He may naturally not lose as much coherency as you.”

 

“Suppressants?” Tim said, his voice sounding sadly small. “But… I thought… I’m sick.”

 

“You’re in heat,” Alfred said for the second time. “It’s okay.”

 

“No,” the boy said. “I can’t be…”

 

“Did Jason give you suppressants?” Bruce said.

 

“I… I don’t think…”

 

Slowly. “Did he give you medication?”

 

“Yes but…”

 

“Did it look like the medication you gave me when I was on heat?”

 

In a frightened voice. “Yes…”

 

Alfred sighed in relief and Bruce rubbed his forehead. To Jason. “Where is the packet?”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

The omega tangled his hand in Jason’s hair and pulled his head back. “I don’t have time to deal with all this bullshit alpha posturing,” he snarled. “Where is the packet?”

 

Being forced to kneel, neck bared, before Bruce brought back a surge of stinging memories. He choked on the recollections with a painful dry heave and yanked himself out of the other mans grip to fall on all fours on the cave floor.

 

“Fuck you,” he rasped. “I didn’t do anything.”

 

Coldly. “You attacked me.”

 

“Because I didn’t do anything!” He glowered over his shoulder. “But that doesn’t matter with you, does it?”

 

Bruce’s glare was unrelenting. “Where is the packet, Jason?”

 

Jason fished in his pocket, pulled out the small white box of suppressants, and tossed it at the other man. Bruce caught them, read the back, and pulled them open to count how many pills were missing from the pack.

 

“You don’t attack pack mates, Jason. I don’t care how justified you think you are. You don’t do that.”

 

“You pushed me into the wall, bitch.”

 

Bruce’s eyes flashed. “That’s _enough_ , Jason.”

 

“Master Jason,” Alfred appeared kneeling at his side. “If you find it acceptable there are some omega shots in the medical bay.”

 

Omega shots were injections of concentrated mixed omega hormones. A dose should counteract the build up of alpha hormones in an alpha and was commonly used to calm panicked or aggressive alphas in the same way alpha shots were used on omegas. He’d had one once before and remembered the slow sleepy calm counterbalanced with a strange sick feeling in his stomach; his body’s reaction to the non natural exchange.

 

Staring at the floor between his hands he felt hot, angry, and his muscles ached as if the day after a long workout.

 

He wanted the shot. If for no other reason than to feel different from what he felt now. But, he was keenly aware of the omega’s eyes on him, of their critical analysis of him, and in that moment he couldn’t let Bruce see a shred of complacency. Not then.

 

“I don’t need that shit,” he rasped, pushed himself to his feet, and glared at Bruce still watching him with cold calculative eyes. “I don’t need any of you.”

 

Icily. “Then maybe you should leave.”

 

Jason held his composure as both Tim and Alfred looked at the leader in unmasked shock.

 

“Master Bruce that’s…”

 

“Don’t make him go!”

 

“Maybe I fucking should,” he snarled and turned on his heel to march up towards the stairs that would take him to the manor. As he left he heard Tim lurch to his feet and race after him. His steps abnormally heavy and breathing uneven. He grabbed Jason’s hand and leant on him, walking with him.

 

“Go away kid,” he pulled his hand away, “they’ll take care of you now.”

 

The boy looked terrified. “But… you take care of me…”

 

“Yeah I did,” he rasped. “Now they’re going to do it.”

 

“But…”

 

He stopped, looked down at the boy, and sighed. “Trust me kid. You’re better off with them.”

 

Tim looked at him for a long time. “Are you really going to leave? Like Dick did?”

 

He glanced back towards the omega and beta watching from a distance. “Nah,” he muttered. “Not like Dick did.”

 

The boy studied him for a while. “Am I really an omega?” He asked.

 

He grimaced. “Seems that way, kid.”

 

“In heat?”

 

Again. “Seems that way.”

 

“But then how come I don’t want to…” he blushed, “you know. And I thought heats were meant to feel good. My stomach really hurts and…”

 

“Look,” he knelt down beside the boy and spun him around to face into the body of the cave. “There is an utter fucking prick of an omega just over there that actually knows the answers to these questions. He’ll also let you borrow his nest.”

 

“But… can’t I come with you? I won’t bother you I…”

 

“That’s called imprinting.” He said. “Don’t get carried away with it. You’ll be better off with them,” he nodded towards the pair. “They’re pack.”

 

“But…”

 

“Go,” he said. “Now.”

 

As if on an invisible string Tim lurched back towards the body of the cave. He shot a nervous look over his shoulder. Jason deliberately turned away and continued up towards the manor without looking back.

 

Once out of sight the exhaustion started rolling over him in thick debilitating waves. It was one thing staying up all night. It was another thing all together to stay up taking care of a heating omega like a castrated beta. But Tim was the only pack member who genuinely seemed to even remotely like him anymore. He owed the kid more than just locking him in a room and leaving or letting him run into the welcoming arms of the prowling alphas.

 

He strode into the kitchen, yanked the fridge door open, and grabbed the first thing he saw. Milk. He popped the carton open, brought it up to his lips, and tipped his head back to swallow the cool creamy liquid. He didn’t let himself think about what had just happened. He didn’t let that part of his life be real just yet.

 

“Jason?”

 

He lowered the milk carton and turned to look over his shoulder. Dick stood in the doorway and stared at him. The man’s hair stood up in messy black prongs as if he’d ran his fingers through it one too many times, his clothes were strangely mismatched, and he had a piece of paper twisted almost beyond recognition in his hand.

 

“What do you want?” Jason muttered and shoved the milk back onto the shelf.

 

“Fuck man,” Dick began breathlessly and started towards him. “I thought you were dead and I… I better be dreaming this.”

 

He frowned. “You wanted me to di—?”

 

An arm hooked around his neck, a second slipped around his waist, and a warm pair of lips crushed against his.

 

Jason staggered back against the corner of the fridge and fumbled hopelessly with his sensibilities as the other man deepened the kiss and rocked forward to press their bodies together. They fit like two pieces of a puzzle… or two pieces of two different puzzles that locked despite their outward mismatch.

 

He groaned a deep low sound and brought up his arms to clutch the other man and pull him against him. He felt the hard shape of his muscle, the point of his hip bone, and the curve of his back as he arched against him. Dick’s tongue slipped by his lips and slid along the hard line of his teeth. He shuddered as he tasted the alpha hormones there.

 

“Fuck you taste strong.”

 

He growled and reconnected their lips, this time making sure to push some of the wetness in his mouth against the other man’s wandering tongue. Dick took it greedily and crushed himself against him harder.

 

He took a deep, hungry, breath of air and savoured the light swirling scent of the other man; a typically broad beta flavour spiced with a seductive streak of almost omega like sweetness. Subtle in a way that made an omega’s all consuming allure appear chokingly thick. It was the unobtrusive and unintrusive aroma of his diplomatic caste, tweaked with the light allure of what he could have been, and shaded with the unique open scent that belonged exclusively to Dick.

 

 _Now_ he felt sexually aroused.

 

Dick pulled away from him and stared at him with intense twilight blue eyes. A hint of fear snuck across his gaze. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”

 

“Better fucking not be.”

 

“Oh no. This is _such_ a bad move. I…”

 

Jason leant forward and kissed him again; an angry messy kiss that consumed both their lips and spilt across their faces.

 

“Fuck…” Dick said as they broke apart again. “This is… so fucking stupid.”

 

Their lips reconnected once more.

 

Jason growled, deep in the back of his throat, and reached down wrap his hands around Dick’s hips and hoist him up.

 

“Ah! Okay! What’s happening?!” The other man yammered as he was picked off the ground.

 

“Figure it out,” Jason grunted as he propped him over his shoulder and strode out of the room.

 

“I forgot how much of an arse you could be,” Dick said as he was carried into the hall.

 

“I forgot how hard it was to get you to shut up,” Jason replied.

 

“Oh man,” Dick ran his fingers through his hair destroying what little control he had left over the messy mane, “this is _such_ the _worst_ idea.”

 

He shrugged him higher over his shoulder to carry him easier.

 

“If you knot me I swear I will cut it off.”

 

He grunted.

 

Dick didn’t move until Jason dropped him on his bed and then it was only to sit up so he could wrestle his shirt up over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally wrote this all today. Feeling pretty proud of myself.


	12. Chapter 12

There were certain rules to being Dick Grayson; certain formulas that had to be followed and systems that needed to be adhered to. The first and foremost rule was stability. He was a beta, one of the only two in a pack of six, and it was up to him and Alfred to subtly rein in the more turbulent members and keep them from each others throats. He needed to be staunch, safe, and unbiased in his treatment of all pack mates. A foundation for everything to stand on. He needed to leave the stupidity, the emotional messes, and the drama for the more unstable, hormonally impaired, sexual castes.

 

It was the most important rule, and it was the one he was breaking.

 

Jason’s weight pushed him deep into the mattress, the hard shape of his penis pressed against his naked thigh, and the warm wetness of his lips crushed painfully hard against his. He could feel the other man’s heart beating rapidly against his chest; filling the moments between his own pulse and adding to the rough, ready, wanton sounds already flooding the room.

 

The wet noise of their connected lips, the greedy groans already spilling from his throat, and soft slick sound of skin scaping on skin.

 

The unmistakable and unchangeable underscore of the carnal action they performed.

 

Dick hadn’t intended for this to happen. Not now. Not ever again. Jason was a wild river that he had already leapt blindly into before only to be dashed against the rocks a moment later. Jason had hurt him not maliciously, not even intentionally, but just by doggedly following his course and answering his savage alpha instincts with an insistency that was as dangerous as it was predictable. But that was okay. He had been hurt but he was smart enough, and strong enough, not to venture back into the enthral of the other man no matter how tempting those rapid waters looked. He had learnt his lesson and would be a good beta, follow the rules, and move on for the betterment of the pack… and for himself.

 

And he had been. It had been working.

 

But then he walked into the kitchen and saw the alpha standing by the open fridge, still in his armour, and tipping the contents of a milk carton down his throat. In that moment all his reasoning, all his plans, and all his safety measures had been swept aside. Nothing could have stood against the surge of feeling he’d felt at seeing the man he’d been terrified was gone caught in an almost comically conventional act; ragged, worn, and so beautifully _alive_.

 

He’d stepped forward to hug him, and that hug dissolved rapidly into a kiss, and then Jason had kissed him back, and then they’d kissed each other, and then they were making out, and Jason was grabbing his hip, and he knew it was a mistake but they were going to have sex. It was an inevitability because, despite what he told everyone and despite what he’d told himself, he’d never really managed to climb out of the wild dark river that was Jason Todd.

 

Not really.

 

Jason’s breath flooded hot and delicious against his mouth, the strong sweaty sexual stench of his skin assaulted his senses, and his hands scraped hungrily along his side. Dick was caught under him, hardly able to move between the firm embrace of the mattress and the domineering weight of the alpha’s body. Their erections were trapped between them; rubbing together, and already aching hard. He whined into Jason’s mouth, tried to roll his hips against the younger man’s slow forceful grind, and clutched the square shape of his shoulder with his forearms; hands balled into white knuckled fists.

 

Jason reached between their bodies and wrapped a fist painfully tight around the length of Dick’s cock. He arched against the crushing weight of the other man and hissed through his teeth. He could feel the calluses, the scars, and the sweaty texture of Jason’s palm. Hot, rough, and fisting him hard enough to soon have him writhing hopelessly under the body pinning him to the bed.

 

“Jay… I…”

 

Dark eyes watched him with intense black fascination.

 

“I… fuck…” he twisted his hips. “You’re k-killing me here.”

 

A horse growl. “Do you want me to stop?”

 

The hand around his cock tightened and tugged sharply upward. Dick shifted as little as he could towards the motion. Trying to thrust into the other man’s fist.

 

“God no.”

 

It was a strange sweet kind of torture. He couldn’t escape from under the other man even if he tried, could hardly breathe for the weight on his chest and the forceful tooth touched kisses that moved to smother his lips, and couldn’t register anything but Jason on him, all around him, and _gripping_ him with dark delicious intent.

 

He arched forward as much as he could, slid their sweat slicked bodies together, and inhaled the erotic swirl of scents colouring the air. His own familiar smell was almost completely smothered by Jason’s intense alpha aroma; wafting off the sheets with every minute movement, streaming from his mouth on every exhale, and pouring off his skin as thick and captivating as any omega.

 

Last time they had sex they’d both still been dampened and what little he’d been able to smell of Jason, while still mouth-watering, had at best been a pale imitation of his true scent. Jason’s extended and undoubtedly stressful patrol meant his scent mask had long since worn off by the time he got back to the cave and, Dick swore, he smelt stronger than usual on top of that. He was a beta so he couldn’t pick up scents as well as alphas, and defiantly couldn’t read them like omegas, but he would have to be scent-blind not to be able to tell how _aroused_ Jason was and that knowledge was… so fucking good.

 

As he neared climax he felt Jason shift so he could hook the fingers of his spare hand under Dick’s knee and pull his leg up. He exchanged hands and replicated the move on his other side. Dick shuddered as he was folded, pressed down, and as the attention his cock received came to a messy peak.

 

He came with a strangled shout followed by a long drawn out moan.

 

It took a few moments for him to blink away the haze of his orgasm and see the semen splashed in silvery streams across Jason’s abdomen. Jason levied himself off him slightly to regard the mess on his belly, grunted, and ran his hand through it; smearing it between his fingers.

 

“Fuck…” Dick muttered. “I got to admit, that was not how I thought this would start.”

 

Jason ran his hand along Dick’s softening member, between his thighs, and slipped a semen slicked finger easily inside him. The action awoke a host of new sensations and prickled warm and hot at the tip of his spent cock.

 

“But I figured this was coming at some point.”

 

His orgasm had left him bobbing wearily on a cloud of fleeting pleasure, sapping both tension and energy, and leaving him far more relaxed and pliable that he otherwise would be. He wondered if that had been Jason’s plan all along as the alpha pushed a second finger in beside the first.

 

Dick swallowed and hooked his feet together behind Jason’s back.

 

“It comes with the territory, you know. You take an alpha to bed and they’re going to want to top at some point. Not that I really mind but alphas, boy, alphas can be rough when…”

 

“Do you ever shut up?”

 

“Oh, occasionally. When the mood takes me.” He gasped as Jason pushed a third finger in; grazing his entrance with his own ejaculate and stretching him with as much subtly as a battering ram. His toes curled as the man found his prostate.

 

“I could have walked away from you,” he rasped. “I could of.”

 

Jason’s gaze moved from his body to look down at him, his eyes so dark they looked black.

 

“I was, ah, so close. I thought I had… I thought I…” _was over you_. He couldn’t bring himself to say those words; to admit to his past weakness even as it resurfaced inside him with ugly assurance.

 

Jason leant forward to kiss him again. Dick parted his lips and allowed the man to penetrate his mouth; laying claim to new territory with a decisive sweep of his tongue even as he jacked him with his fingers; a vulgar demonstration of what he was going to do to him. After a while he broke the kiss, worked the fingers of his other hand into Dick’s hair and dragged his head back so he could bite his neck, throat, and suck a mark into his collarbone; right where he would knot a tie.

 

He was getting hard again. His refractory period cut in half by the insistent attention Jason was showing him, not just in the actions he performed but in the wanton black depth of his gaze; dark, deep, and riveted onto him every time he opened his eyes.

 

It had been the same last time, he reminded himself. While there were no omegas in the room Jason’s attention was easily capturable, even dictatable, but the second that environment changed so did he. The moment an unattached omega was present Jason would lose his interest with him… just like last time.

 

But, Dick reasoned weakly, there were no unattached omegas in the house anymore. Bruce was the only one and he was already well on his way to bonding with Clark. He was a beta and even he could tell Bruce wasn’t as strongly _sweet_ as he had been when he left. Not that he’d spent a lot of time with him since he came back. He’d only seen him once in the cave when they were trying to contact Jason and Tim but even then he’d been stressed and he hadn’t smelt like he used to. Hadn’t had the allure he used to…

 

Dick reached up and laid his hand on the side of Jason’s face, feeling the rough scrape of his unshaved cheek, the wet shape of his lips, and the strangely soft skin around his eyes.

 

If there weren’t any unattached omegas perhaps Jason could learn to… he could…

 

It was a stray thought, a desperate one, but he couldn’t stop himself from clinging to it; a floating log in the river that was sweeping him downstream faster and faster every moment.

 

Jason removed his hand, reached for the condom pack he’d dropped on the bedding beside them, and tore it open with his teeth. He spat the wrapper away and rolled the slick sheathe on with one hand. Dick tensed involuntary as the man grabbed his hips and moved him into alignment.

 

“I’ve never done this face to face before,” he whispered.

 

Jason answered simply. “Me neither.”

 

He blinked in surprise but didn’t have time to comment before Jason was pushing into him. His entrance flared hot as it was stretched around the alpha’s girth, insides shivered as they were pushed aside to accommodate his length, and his hips hurt where Jason’s fingers dug into them. He let out a keening whine and wrapped his arms crushingly tight around the man’s shoulders.

 

He’d forgotten how big Jason was. He felt like he was being stuffed full; the push of the man’s massive member impaling him in a slow, sure, slide.

 

When he was fully inside him Jason stopped and waited to let him adjust. He had learnt from last time, Dick realised, he wasn’t making the same mistakes. If only the same could be said for him.

 

He shouldn’t be here; in Jason’s room lying on his back, legs up, with the man’s cock buried inside him. He shouldn’t have initiated this; Jason’s lips on his, hands on his hips, and pelvis grinding against his arse. He shouldn’t want to be here with Jason; mismatched hearts, scent stuffed air, and… Jason. Just Jason. He shouldn’t want it. He shouldn’t. But he did.

 

When his breathing lost its pained hitch the alpha began to move.

 

He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and gave himself over to the vivid experience of being fucked by Jason Todd. The hot full feeling of having a cock inside him, the lewd idea of what was happening to him, and the fleetingly pleasurable scrape of the other man’s shaft against _that_ spot he didn’t even know existed deep inside him.

 

It wasn’t long before Jason was setting a punishing pace, swallowing all the sounds Dick was making in another open mouthed kiss, and reattaching his hand to Dick’s cock already hard and aching between his legs.

 

He clutched him tighter, drowning in the intimate scent of his sweat as Jason drew almost all the way out and thrust hard and fast all the way back in with a wet smack of skin on skin. He took him smoother on each stroke until Jason was gliding in an out of him as if he were an omega; taking him until all he could feel was Jason’s cock, hands, and lips still moving against his.

 

Dick came with a shout and a blistering flush of dizzying pleasure that shot out to every extremity in his body and left his mouth dry and fingers tingling. He blinked his eyes back into focus just in time to watch Jason as he drew back, shuddered violently, and dropped Dick’s cock to reach between their connected bodies and wrap his fist around his half formed knot; holding it outside Dick’s body as he thrust twice more and came inside him with a broken groan.

 

“Fuck…”

 

“Yeah,” Dick agreed with a crooked smile. “Fuck.”

 

He watched as Jason rocked back, peeled off the used condom with slow clumsy movements, and tossed it aside.

 

“Who would have known you liked kissing so much?” He teased.

 

Low. “Shut up.”

 

He moved to sit up but Jason slumped down on top of him, crushing him back into the sweaty sheets, and pinning him onto the mattress with a sprawl of heavy limbs.

 

“Eh, what’s this?”

 

“Tired,” Jason grunted.

 

He didn’t just look tired. On closer inspection he looked exhausted.

 

“Well,” Dick said, feeling strangely guilty. “If you get off me I’ll…”

 

“Nah. I like you there.”

 

“Where?” He asked. “Crushed under you so I can’t breathe?”

 

“You can breathe.”

 

He frowned. “I think that’s up for me to decide.”

 

“You can talk. That means you can breathe.”

 

“Jason,” he said sharply.

 

The man groaned and rolled off him.

 

Dick sat up - the skin of the fitted sheet peeling off his back - and looked down at the other man already well on his way towards sleep. Jason’s hair was a mess, face strange in its slackness, and body covered in a mixed sample of semen. He had a new scar Dick didn’t remember digging into his upper arm in a small red notch of missing skin.

 

He deliberately looked away, pushed himself off the bed, and started pulling on his scattered items of clothing, ignoring the ache of his abused entrance and the man already breathing slowly and deeply on the bed behind him. When he was dressed he risked a glance back, studied the indomitable shape of Jason’s alpha male body, and wondered if he would ever really be happy with a beta; if there was even a chance he would forgo all omegas, override his biological programming, for him.

 

It didn’t seem likely but, now that Bruce was bonding, now that there weren’t any available omegas… maybe… God maybe… if he was breaking the rules maybe Jason could too.

 

Dick left the room, closed the door softly behind him, and checked his phone.

 

His stomach twisted as he saw a new message from Roy.

 

Roy. He hadn’t even thought… hadn’t even considered… not even for a moment...

 

“Oh…” he said staring at the phone in horror. “Oh no…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if anyone has noticed (or cares) but chapter twelve was when these two hooked up in the first story. It was non deliberate but I'm kind of happy it has happened.


	13. Chapter 13

“Master Bruce!”

 

“I’m not talking to him, Alfred.”

 

“He needs someone,” The old beta said sharply, striding after him. “I refuse to let you walk away from him. Master Timothy has never gone into heat before and he can not be asked to do it alone.”

 

“I did.”

 

“No. You locked yourself in your room and almost died of dehydration. The boy in there is _asking_ for help and you’re walking away.”

 

“Yes, because you can do it,” Bruce replied as he approached the computer console and dialled in a few key numbers. “You’re good at talking. You got me to open my door.”

 

“Sir I must…”

 

“You’re the beta.”

 

“And you’re the omega,” Alfred reminded him stiffly. “You know what it’s like going into heat for the first time. You’re the only one in this pack that does.”

 

He snorted. “You remember more of my heats than I do.”

 

“He has a lot of questions, Master Bruce. Questions you can answer.”

 

“As can you.” He typed a commend into the keyboard.

 

“He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t want—”

 

“He’s in heat. What he wants doesn’t matter. The sooner he learns that the—”

 

“Sir, I must insi—”

 

“It may not be comfortable but it’s safer to heat alone. He should get into the habit of—”

 

“That is not what—”

 

“Being an omega might be hard but it’s not complicated. There is nothing I can tell him that will help him t—”

 

“He’s scared, Bruce!”

 

Bruce blinked in surprise and looked over his shoulder at the butler. He could count the number of times Alfred had used his name without the honorific on one hand.

 

“You were scared too,” Alfred continued. “You may not recall much but I’m sure you remember what little comfort I was to you that week. You needed someone who had gone through what you were going through to sit down beside you and tell you it was going to be okay. Someone to explain things as someone who had experienced them not just an observer.” A long pause. “I couldn’t help you, Bruce, but you can help him.”

 

The words hung in the air like weapons sharpened and aimed towards his throat. Despite what he’d told Alfred he remembered most of his first heat. Unlike Tim he knew what was happening. He had found out he was an omega the night his parents died and had waited for years for the heat that would reveal his sexual status to the rest of the world. He’d had it planned. He was going to hide somewhere where Alfred wouldn’t find him and then smother himself in perfume and pretend to be a beta. He had several locations stocked with supplies and knew exactly how long it took to get to each place from all the main rooms in the manor. He was ready. No one would ever know.

 

His plan fell apart when, like Tim, he failed to identify the warning signs. The heightened sense of smell should have been enough, should have told him, but he didn’t actually realise until he first felt the warm wet of his omegahood leaking down his leg. By then he had already been discovered by the butler.

 

He hit one more key on the computer and brought up the com connection. “They came home, Clark.”

 

It took the alien four and a half second to fly back into the cave in a thunderous rush of air “What happened?” The alpha questioned, civilian clothes rumbled and hair windswept back from impossible blue eyes. “Where are they?”

 

Bruce swallowed. “Tim went into heat.”

 

“Tim…” Clark blinked. “ _What?_ ”

 

“It happens, Clark.”

 

“But he’s so young,” the man muttered. “Was Jason able to protect him? Are they okay?”

 

Alfred spoke softly, surely. “I’m not letting this matter drop merely because you introduce the presence of your mate, Master Bruce.”

 

“What the hell do you want me to say to him?” Bruce snapped. “He already knows what he needs to know.”

 

“No,” Alfred grabbed his arm. “He hardly knows anything at all.”

 

“And I knew everything and didn’t help one bloody bit!”

 

“Bruce?” Clark looked between the two of them hesitantly. “What’s going on?”

 

“He doesn’t have to have a first time like yours,” the butler said sternly. “You don’t have to continue that cycle. You were alone. He doesn’t have to be.”

 

Bruce raked his hand through his hair. “What do you want me to say? I could go in there and tell him it never gets better, that this is something he has to live with from now on, that it’ll always hurt as much as it does now, and there is nothing he can do but drug himself stupid or find some knotting bastard to get some relief. Is that what you want me to tell him? Or do you want me to lie?”

 

An estranged moment of silence. The bats tittered among themselves, computer hummed softly beside him, and vents purred as they recycled fresh air through the underground system.

 

Clark looked at him like he’d just pulled kryptonite out of his pocket. “Relief? That’s not… I thought…”

 

“Richard was right,” Alfred said simply.

 

He turned away. “If he’s so god damned insightful then why don’t you get him to talk to Tim.”

 

“You do hate being an omega,” the butler finished.

 

Venomously. “And why the hell shouldn’t I?”

 

“And so you hate alphas.”

 

Clark looked sadly hurt and confused. “What?”

 

“I don’t hate alphas,” Bruce snarled. “This isn’t about alphas. This is about the boy back there and him not having to know right away how his life has changed now that he’s drawn the short straw. Because he’ll figure it out. He’ll realise the only way to make heats tolerable is to poison himself with those drugs or attach himself to one of the mongrels prowling around.”

 

“Tolerable?” Clark said. “I thought you _liked_ mating with me.”

 

“For fuck’s sake, Clark, this isn’t about you.”

 

Dejectedly. “Who is it about then?”

 

“That boy is alone back there,” Alfred reminded him. “I’m not asking you to comfort him, Master Bruce, I am simply asking you be there. He and you are more alike than you would care to admit. He doesn’t want you to lie to him he wants answers.”

 

“He can get those online.”

 

“That is all he’s been left with for a while now, sir, and it is evidently not enough.”

 

“I’m not talking to him.”

 

“He’s your pack. You have a responsibility towards him.”

 

“Bruce, I…”

 

He rounded on his mate. “What?!”

 

Clark blinked at him then frowned. “I need to talk to you.”

 

Bruce shot him an exasperated look. “Now is not the time, Clark.”

 

“Sir,” Alfred said pointedly. “The least you could do it go in there and retract what you said to Jason. Those two are close and the prospect of losing the only pack member he has a real connection with…”

 

“I’m not going to make Jason leave. I… I didn’t mean to say that.” He’d been angry, tired, and fighting off a lingering headache that fluttered insistently behind his eyes. Jason’s aggression had scraped through his composure and in that moment he’d snapped.

 

It was wrong. He shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have ignited the hostility between them, and shouldn’t have pushed Jason so hard when the man was clearly exhausted and under attack by his own heightened hormones. But, knowing he was wrong and knowing how to fix it without losing what little authority he’d been able to steal over the turbulent alpha, were two very different things. Only a few months ago Jason had actively antagonised his leadership. If he admitted weakness now what was to stop the alpha from stepping right back into the role of rival? Stepping right back to where they’d begun.

 

“Fuck this is a mess.”

 

Jason hated him, Dick had walked out on him, and now Tim was asking for him and he knew no matter what he said to the boy he would be letting him down. Because there was no magic word that could make his heat go away and no easy way out. He had lost the thread that was stringing his pack together and now…

 

“You owe that boy, Master Bruce.”

 

“Okay,” he growled. “I’ll… I need to take his blood work to get him on better suppressants.”

 

Alfred’s look was penetrating.

 

“ _And_ I’ll talk to him. Happy?”

 

The beta looked at him for a long time. “Not particularly, sir, but I know it will make Master Timothy so.”

 

“Wait!” Clark grabbed his arm. “I need to talk to you.”

 

Bruce looked at the hand on his arm and then back up into the alpha’s eyes.

 

“I… I know your pack needs you, Bruce. I… I…” he looked at Alfred and away with a curse. He looked strangely tired but also taunt like a frayed rope still straining between two knots; each attached to an axis that was moving slowly but steadily away. “Just promise me you’ll talk to me when Tim’s okay,” Clark said. “Promise me.”

 

He frowned. “What is this about?”

 

“I’m going to go back to the farm and tell my parents everything is alright. I… I’ll be back later.”

 

“Okay,” Bruce began, “but…” Clark vanished.

 

He blinked as the air buffeted his face and stared at the empty spot where his mate had stood a moment before. His stomach rolled unhappily, his skin prickled where he’d lost contact, and behind his eyes his headache crept back into existence. All of it fuelled by the sickening look of guarded detachment that had been plastered across his mate’s face the moment of his departure.

 

He licked his lips, swallowed, and forced himself to discard the fleeting suspicions from his mind. Whatever Clark wanted to talk about he needed to trust the alpha and not read any more into it. This week was already rife with misconceptions and misconnections and he needed to trust the one stable pillar left in his life wasn’t about to crumble along side all the others.

 

“Master Bruce?”

 

“I’m going,” he said sharply. “I just need… I just need to get the blood work kit.”

 

Fifteen minutes later he pushed open the door to the vault like room he used as a nest and breathed in the suffocating sweetness of another heating omega. Tim saw him enter and scrambled to his feet wearing nothing but a pair of tattered pyjama bottoms. His hair was a mess, cheeks red, and omega gland like a raised bruise on the side of his neck.

 

“Bruce,” the boy said breathlessly. “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” he rumbled and looked down to the patch of floor Tim had been lying on. “Why weren’t you in the bed?”

 

 Tim’s blush deepened. “I… I’m sorry I… I’m making a mess and I didn’t want to…”

 

“Pads are in the bathroom under the sink.”

 

Tim blinked. “Oh… oh t-thanks.”

 

“And you can make a mess in here. It’s what it’s for.”

 

Tim’s cheeks dipped to an almost impossible red and he quickly turned away to dash into the bathroom with surprising dexterity considering his current hormonal state. Bruce felt strangely glad. It would be impossible to tell Tim’s level until his heat subsided but with that much control he wasn’t high. At least he was spared that much.

 

When he came back Bruce sat him on the side of the bed and took some blood from his arm as the boy hugged his own side and leant unembarrassed against his shoulder.

 

“You smell different now,” Tim muttered into the fabric of his shirt. “You used to smell really,” he flinched, “like one thing. But now you smell like a lot of things all at once. But you’re also really _strong_. It’s… a bit yucky actually.”

 

He grunted and detached the vial of liquid red from the boy’s arm. “How does Jason smell?”

 

“Oh, he smells much better.”

 

As far as he could tell, despite presenting with a sexual caste, Tim hadn’t yet developed a sexuality. He didn’t show any drastic interest in sex despite his heat and seemed happy to be treated like a little brother by Jason. How he perceived scents and his preference for Jason’s aroma was a fairly strong indicator that, when the time came, he would be heterosexual.

 

“Why do I feel sick?” Tim rasped. “Like, in my stomach.”

 

“Suppressants cause nausea.”

 

“Suppressants suck,” he said and nuzzled against Bruce’s shoulder. “Does it go away?”

 

“Not unless you stop taking the suppressants and painkillers,” he answered and started packing up the blood kit.

 

The boy moaned and wrapped an arm around him to stop him leaving. “But then my heat will come back really strong again.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How can you stand it?”

 

Simply. “I don’t anymore.”

 

“Because you have an alpha?”

 

He hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

 

“But if I’m not on suppressants my stomach hurts more,” the boy moaned. “Why does my stomach hurt?”

 

A pause. “If an omega shares a heat with an alpha without birth control they will leave their nest pregnant one third of the time. Two thirds if they’re bonded. If they have the same amount of sex outside of heat they have less than one chance in one hundred.”

 

“Like a girl beta?”

 

“Yes. That spike in fertility has kept the human race alive long enough for IVF to do it for us. But it does come at a price.”

 

“But why does it have to hurt?”

 

“Your uterus is swelling and you’re hormones are overdosing.”

 

“I hate sexual castes.”

 

“People tend to hate games they lose.”

 

"I wouldn't mind being an omega if I... if we..." Tim sounded miserable. “Heats suck.”

 

Bruce didn’t say anything. He felt utterly useless sitting beside him trapped in a messy one armed hug. He wouldn’t be here if Alfred hadn’t insisted and even now he didn’t plan on staying long. Heats were an indignity that didn’t need to be witnessed and despite the months living under his roof Bruce hadn’t built up the same trust with Tim that Alfred and Jason had.

 

Tim groaned and shivered through a brief bout of need. “Why do we have castes?” He said through gritted teeth.

 

Bruce leapt at the question like a dog after a bone; grateful for an excuse to break the silence. “It is the result of a rapid and long ago activated evolutionary trigger in our DNA to sustain the human species due to a lowering in ferti—”

 

“When I was little,” Tim interrupted him, “my mother told me that a long time ago there was man and woman. But there was much jealousy and inequality and so God gave women the powers of men and men the powers of women and to some he gave the power of kinship to bring them together.”

 

Bruce stared at the wall. “Alphas and omegas can find each other without any help,” he muttered.

 

“That’s not what I…” he looked away. “It’s just what my mum told me.”

 

A long pause. Bruce closed his eyes. “Mine too,” he confessed softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually like this chapter very much. I just don't. I hope you guys did.


	14. Chapter 14

It was night when Jason stepped into the shower, turned on the spray, and groaned softly as the pressurised stream struck his sleep stiffened muscles; finally washing away the grit of Gotham and the lingering traces of his encounter with Dick. Stale pheromones, dried semen, and old sex sweetened sweat disappeared down the drain with a hearty gurgle.

 

He didn’t know what to think of Dick nor the hot fast moment they’d shared together. He’d thought the beta had dismissed him from his life, cut him out, and replaced him with the same cool logistical efficiency he would replace a damaged part on his bike. He believed he hadn’t cared and that assumption had hounded him and hurt him every time they were in the same room.

 

Then Dick had kissed him.

 

Jason had been too tired, and too furiously appreciative, to question the action then. Instead he’d let the tone of their kiss carry him on a tidal wave of suppressed desire until they were naked, together, and Dick was coming for him in hot silvery ribbons over his fist and stomach. But now, after a long dreamless day lying motionless and alone on a rumbled bed sheet, the kiss and the events that followed stirred in his mind with a small cruel question mark.

 

Why did he kiss him? Why did he have sex with him? Why did he leave afterward? What did he want from him now? What was Jason allowed to want in return? What if he got it wrong?

 

Jason felt like he was standing knee deep in fog; unsure if his next step would land on solid ground or send him tumbling off a cliff. He didn’t know if Dick had really forgiven him or if what had happened that morning had been about something else. But either way he couldn’t stand in fog forever. Sooner or later he had to take that step and if he did and it was solid ground… if Dick had forgiven him…

 

Bruce. Dick had left last time because he fought with Bruce. And he was fighting with Bruce again. He’d physically fought with Bruce that morning and the man had told him to leave. God, he was an arse but… Dick… Dick would turn away from him if he knew. He needed to talk to Bruce, tell him he didn’t want to leave, settle everything with the omega before he said something, anything, to Dick that could change the beta’s mind.

 

He shrugged off the last foreign scent still clinging to his skin, stepped out of the shower, and attacked himself with the closest towel. Once he was more or less dry he pulled open the closet door and dressed in the first things that came to hand. The clothing smelt starkly clean with a touch of processed sulphur, chlorine, and lemon essence from the wash.

 

No one was in the bedrooms or the kitchen so he changed the time on the grandfather clock in the study and slid down the pole into the belly of the cave. He found Dick and Alfred in the medical wing. Dick was dressed in a muddied Nightwing costume, one glove removed, and blue streaked sleeve rolled up to reveal a long straight cut drawn across his forearm. Alfred was stitching it.

 

Jason frowned. “What happened?”

 

“Gotham’s welcome home,” Dick said without looking up from his arm. “My first night back and Bruce isn’t going to let me leave the cave for a week when he finds out. One guy did this. One guy.”

 

Jason grunted. “Where is Bruce? Is he still out?”

 

Dick blinked and rolled his eyes up to fix at him with a strangely sad look as Alfred replied.

 

“He came home an hour ago, Master Jason. He’s down in the labs.”

 

“The labs?” Dick said. “What’s he doing down there? There’s noting in the water supply is there?”

 

“This is Gotham,” Jason reminded him. “There is always something in the water supply.” He turned to leave.

 

“He’s just rechecking the young master’s blood work,” Alfred told Dick as he walked away. “You know how he is about these things.”

 

“Tim?” Dick queried. “What happened to Tim?”

 

A shocked silence. “I’m sorry, Master Richard, thought you would have heard…”

 

He lost ear of the conversation as he walked down the steps deeper into the murky body of the cave. He found Bruce still in full Batman regalia minus the cowl leaning heavily against a counter top and staring sightlessly down at the projected holographic screens before him. He still hadn’t regained the weight he lost in heat and his face was gaunt and pale, eyes shadowed, and hair dark and listless across his brow. As he approached Bruce frowned, rubbed his forehead, and turned to face him.

 

“What do you want?” A gruff growl.

 

“Fuck man, you look like sh—”

 

Lower. “This is not a good time, Jason. If you want something tell me if not get out.”

 

A long pause. Jason swore and bid himself not to meet the cold silvery blue stare of the other man. Like ice but colder, harsher, angrier. “I don’t want to go,” he forced out. “I don’t want to leave.”

 

Bruce turned away and brought up a blood hormone readout on one of the screens. “Then stay.”

 

Jason frowned and his eyes focused on the jagged line on the graph and then the omega hormone counts listed at the side. There were three numbers. The first was the highest level the hormones peaked to, the second was the lowest, and the third was the plateau that was used to rank the individual within their sexual caste. “Shit, is that Tim?” Jason stepped forward and stared at the string of numbers. “He’s higher than me.”

 

“That’s me,” the omega corrected him and brought up a second readout on the screen beside the first. “That’s Tim.”

 

Jason’s eyes trekked over the information. “Low level?”

 

“So it would seem.”

 

“That means he’ll be out of the nest really soon, right?”

 

“Within in the next twenty four hours.”

 

He looked at the blood work. Bruce’s waveform spiked much higher and peaked in jagged zigzags along the very top of the screen. Tim’s by comparison was lower on the graph and almost block like in appearance. He didn’t know what that meant and didn’t care enough to ask.

 

“Are we okay?” He muttered.

 

Bruce paused what he was doing and looked towards him. His eyes were penetrating and coldly, cruelly, rendering; like a machine reading and deciphering his every minute movement.  “What have you done?”

 

Defensively. “Nothing.”

 

Bruce didn’t reply, just studied him all the harder.

 

“I haven’t done anything I…” He scowled. “For fucks sake, why the hell do you care? I’m here telling you you’ve won. What more do you want?”

 

Bruce’s eyes didn’t leave his. “I don’t want to defeat you, Jason. I never wanted that.”

 

“Yeah right.”

 

He twitched and looked away. "I'm not in the mood to fight you right now."

 

"So, you're just going to kick me out of the pack?" He snarled. "I'm too much trouble to keep around. That's it, isn't it?"

 

"No," Bruce hissed. "Damn it, Jason, I don't want you to leave. I just..." he closed his eyes. "I've never told you this, but in the past alphas have tried to rape me."

 

Jason froze. "What? I..." he swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and balled his hand into a fist. "Who?"

 

Low. "That doesn't matter."

 

"To hell it doesn't!" He snapped. "You can't just tell me alphas tried to rape you and expect me to take that!"

 

"Expect _you_ to take it?" Bruce's gaze snapped to him; bright and angry. "As if they're insulting  _you?"_   Bitterly. _"_ Tell me, Jason, how did you come to that conclusion?"

 

"I'm the lead alpha," Jason heard himself growl. "I'm meant to protect-"

 

"And I'm the leader!"

 

A heavy silence.

 

"Jason," Bruce said stiffly. "Those alphas... the first thing they all tried to do was bite me," a gloved hand reached up and lightly traced the faint mark on the side of his neck. "They believed that if they bit me, if they marked me, they were staking a claim and that meant it would no longer be rape. If they bit me that meant they intended to take care of me. They believed by biting me they were doing the honourable thing, the right thing." He dropped his hand. "None of them respected me enough to even consider what I wanted. They didn't respect me because of my sexual caste... and neither do you."

 

"I don't think..." Jason muttered.

 

"The fight we had yesterday was my fault as much as it was yours, I acknowledge that. But I can't have you disrespecting me because of my sexual caste in front of Tim. I can't have him exposed to that; believing he is less just because of what he is. I don't want you to leave again, you have to know that, but if you can't respect me as a leader merely because of my sexual caste then I can't have you here." He looked at him. "This has to be it, Jason. I won't bait you any more. This alpha omega war between us has to be done."

 

The silence was longer this time and broken only by the purr of the machinery and the distant shrieks of the bats echoing from the back of the cave.

 

"Okay," Jason horsed. He thought of Alfred. "Okay I..." he thought of Tim, "fuck it, this pack is..." he thought of Dick, "too damned important to lose over you..." and damn him, he was thinking about Bruce as well. "I'm done."

 

Bruce looked at him. "Thank you."

 

A long pause. “So we’re cool?”

 

Bruce sighed and looked away from him. “No. Not yet. I shouldn’t have attacked you. You took care of Tim, brought him home unharmed, and as I leader I should have honoured you for that. Instead I forced you to kneel. It was unprovoked and I apologise.”

 

Jason stared at him. “Shit, did you just…”

 

“That does not,” Bruce’s gaze snapped back to him, “give you license to disobey me. You took the boy out on patrol against my express order and risked the life and identity of one of our pack mates. Do so again and I will take it as license to put you on your knees again, this time before the whole pack. Do you understand?”

 

“Fuck man, I only did it because I thought you hated…”

 

“Tim’s an omega?!” Dick charged down the stairs, arm still gently bleeding, and mask clutched in his hands. “That’s what happened? That’s why you didn’t come back?”

 

Jason stared at him in shock. “Yeah? So?”

 

“I thought you’d almost _died_ you idiot not… fucking hell Jason, what the fuck are you trying to pull?”

 

Jason saw understanding strike like lightening behind Bruce’s eyes. The omega’s brows lowered, jaw set, and hand curled into a fist at his side. Bruce had never liked the prospect of them together, showing his blatant disapproval of the match the moment he found out about their first encounter. But, despite this, he had never posed a direct adversity to them either. Jason hoped that trend would stand strong as he resolutely looked away from Bruce’s steel glare and focused on the baleful eyed beta.

 

Dick’s gaze met his and he blinked in surprise, shot a glance at Bruce, and looked back.

 

“The kid isn’t important right now, Dick.”

 

“Oh?” The beta frowned. “Why the hell not?”

 

“Because he’s not. I’m a better part of the pack now. I…”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“No,” Jason growled. “You got to…”

 

Bitterly. “I don’t have to do anything you say, dog.”

 

He spun on his heel and marched back up the stairs. Jason stared after him for a moment, swore, and followed him, his own anger bubbling sick and strong up his throat. Dick strode through the computer bay, over the training area, and wove between the parked black pronged vehicles. As blind to where he was going as the cut now bleeding slowly down his arm.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Leave me alone, Jason!”

 

“What the fuck are you yelling at me about, huh?!”

 

Over his shoulder. “I said leave me alone!”

 

“You think I fucked the kid, don’t you?” He called back.

 

“One day, Jason. How the hell can you do this to me in one day? A day you slept ninety percent through. You got me right back to where you left me in hours.”

 

Angrily. “You do, don’t you. You think I fucked him.”

 

Dick spun around. “Didn’t you?!”

 

“I’m not a paedophile,” he snarled.

 

“Great,” Dick threw up his arms, still backing away from Jason’s approach. “Good for you. You’ve got an omega all ready and lined up for when he starts growing facial hair. Because he’ll fall to his knees and give you his throat the second you ask, you know. That kid already tails you around like a little mini bond mate.”

 

Teeth flashed. “I don’t want a bond mate.”

 

“Oh no. You just want a fuck. He’ll do that too I imagine.”

 

He was getting closer now, closing the distance between the retreating beta an him in long determined strides. “I don’t want Tim.”

 

“You didn’t want Bruce, either,” Dick snapped. “You two can hardly fucking stand each other but that didn’t stop you drooling after him like a big, stupid, idiotic…” he fished for a word, “ _cock_ ,” he settled with fiercely and backed into the edge of an old batmobile with a ragged curse.

 

“Is that why you ran away?”

 

“I _didn’t_ run away,” Dick said stiffly. “I left because you… you fucked us up and I needed to get out for a bit.”

 

“You never told me there was an _us_!”

 

“Well, kiddo, there wasn’t and there isn’t and there never will be, thanks to you,” Dick said as Jason drew to a stop in front of him. “You’ve got a way at getting in my head and messing everything up but I have someone else now, someone that actually respects me.”

 

“Yeah, right. And have you told Roy about this morning? Huh?”

 

Dick glared at him. “I will. And you know why? Because I can’t do something in my life, like fuck an alpha, or _take care of an omega_ , and not tell someone before I jump into bed with them.”

 

Jason glared at him. “I can’t do anything right by you, can I? It doesn’t fucking matter what I do it’s always wrong. Somehow I have to read your mind, figure out what you expect from me now, and when I can’t do that – because not even Superman can do that – you jump on this high fucking horse and ride out of here with all fingers pointing at me.”

 

“Don’t do that,” Dick snapped shoving him back a step. “I defended you when Bruce thought you ran away. I’m not… I’m not the bad guy here.”

 

“Well, neither am I! I didn’t do _anything_.”

 

“No, no you didn’t do anything. But,” Dick raked his fingers through his hair, “but you will. You don’t even think you will but… look at you. You’re standing like that, growling, and flashing your teeth. I couldn’t look half as alpha as you do naturally if I tried.” A horse breath. “You’re caste controls you, Jason. I thought if there were no unattached omegas around then maybe I… we… but that’s stupid. Because when that boy grows up, or some other omega walks into your life, you’re not even going to think about it. And I can’t ask Roy to leave if you’re just going to… to…”

 

Jason stared at him. “Roy’s an alpha too. Why the hell do you trust him and not me?”

 

“It’s not because you’re an alpha it’s because… you’re… you.”

 

“And you don’t want me,” Jason concluded.

 

Dick looked stricken. “I want… I…”

 

“Roy,” Jason finished for him. “I get the fucking message.”

 

“That’s not…”

 

He reached forward, seized the other man’s jaw, and dragged his face forward to crush their lips together in a final frantic kiss. Dick was stiff with shock, body heavy and awkward against his, and lips the taste of Gotham, extra strength Chap Stick, and chemical dampener. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t let it matter. All that mattered was the soft full feeling of the mouth under his, the gentle scrape of long hair against his brow, and finally the mind lulling movement as the other man tentatively returned the kiss.

 

That was what he needed.

 

A small token, a memory, to store away and remind him that Dick Grayson had, despite everything, cared. Even if only for a little while.

 

He released the other man’s jaw, stepped back, and turned without meeting the acrobat’s wide wandering gaze. As he walked away his stomach was tight and pitching as if he was falling, spinning helplessly head over heels, down the fog smothered cliff.

 

As he strode through the computer bay he saw Alfred, gaze respectfully down, and Bruce watching him with a strange ugly mirror in his eyes; as if he was falling beside him down the same cliff to the same inevitable doom.


	15. Chapter 15

Tim slowly pushed open the nest door and peeked out into the darkened depth of the cave beyond. The bats were enjoying the absence of people and chatted happily above in a swarm of dark furry bodies and large leathery wings, a pile of beaten training equipment lay untended beside one of the matted areas, and in the background he could see the sleek shape of the Bat-Wing hoisted up and gutted for what looked to be some intensive maintenance.

 

Tim cautiously sniffed the air, testing out his newly heightened sense of smell as he abandoned the safety of the vault like room and padded into the cave in search for any lingering pack mates. He quickly caught wind of Bruce wafting thick and almost threatening in the air; an unconscious territorial musk that subtly permeated the close corners of the cave with his overly sweet stench. Nearby he found where Alfred had rested a hand against a railing for an extended period of time and took the moment to try and track where the beta had gone but quickly lost the scent in amongst the multitude of smells staining the cave. Engine grease, bats, and the clean chemical pong of the medical bay.

 

Walking through the parked cars he came across the strange interlocked scent of Jason and Dick, spun together and sharp as if the two had been fighting. It was an older scent, perhaps from the day before, and far too faded for him to hope to track it. The only reason why it was still evident was one of them had bled on the floor near a parked Batmobile. Blood, he realised, wasn’t easily identifiable but smelt stronger than skin.

 

He gave up trying to follow the mess of smells in the cave and instead scampered up the stairs and slipped out into the manor beyond. The carpet of the study he arose into felt abnormally plush against the bare soles of his feet and he wondered if he was leaving a trail that someone could follow. A strong, sweet, sticky one like Bruce’s.

 

Did alphas really like that smell? It was hard to believe.

 

He looked out the windows. It was mid day sunlight outside so he made his way towards the kitchen, not even bothering to attempt to untangle the scents on route, and hoping the pack would have gathered for lunch. As approached the room the mingled scents of the household grew stronger and he heard the clatter of dishes being dropped in the sink.

 

Alfred saw him first and smiled gently as he stepped tentatively into the busy room.

 

“Welcome back, young master. Would you like anything to eat?”

 

His stomach rolled at the thought. “No,” he answered apologetically. “Food still seems really gross right now.”

 

“Do you think you can eat something anyway?” The butler queried as the rest of the pack turned one at a time to regard him.

 

“Do I have too?”

 

“Yes,” Bruce answered.

 

The omega – the other omega – looked worn but still, stubbornly, alert. His eyes were slightly bloodshot but also starkly commanding as they locked onto him with deliberate presence.

 

“But… I’m not hungry,” Tim tried.

 

“You won’t be until your hormones settle,” Bruce told him. “But you’ve hardly eaten for days. Your body needs that energy. Eat.”

 

He reluctantly stepped towards the table as Alfred set to serving up one last generous portion. Bruce pushed a folded piece of paper into his palm as he passed and Jason roughly tousled his hair.

 

“Made it out alive, kid?”

 

“I guess…” he grunted and waved away the alpha as he unfolded the paper and sat at the table, one leg tucked under himself. “What’s this?”

 

“Your level,” Bruce answered. “Law requires you have it documented.”

 

“The law?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Realisation hit.

 

On almost all legal documentation there was a compulsory caste question sitting at the very top of the personal information page. Once answered it went on an invisible record that would help define how the individual was treated in certain aspects of life. An omega still had to struggle to inherit money, an alpha was more likely to be imprisoned if they’d committed a crime, and betas wouldn’t be subsidised for hormone related medication.

 

“I have to tell the government I’m an omega don’t I?” He said, looking around at the gathered pack members.

 

“No,” Bruce replied.

 

Tim frowned. “But you just said it’s the law.”

 

“We break the law every night,” the leader reminded him. “If you want to be illegally documented I’ll help you and we’ll burn that. If not it’s there for you.”

 

Tim blinked, stunned. “R-really?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But I… I don’t know if…”

 

“When school starts again you’ll have to make a choice. Until then you have time to think.”

 

Tim thought off his class and felt a sting of apprehension at the idea of facing them again with an adult scent. When the Summer break started only a small handful of his classmates had presented and all as betas except for two awkward alphas still struggling to adapt to the radically different way people perceived them. The early bloomers, outcast until the rest of their grade caught up with them over the next few years. He’d never thought when school started again he would be joining them.

 

“Could I… just be a kid for a bit longer?”

 

“You are a kid,” Jason said stiffly.

 

Bruce ignored the alpha and spoke, voice a detached monotone. “There is no effective scent mask that will mimic your specific child aroma. You’ll either need to attend as an omega or pick a cover beta scent and remember to dampen and mask every morning.”

 

His eyes flickered between the faces turned towards him. Alfred looked at him pityingly, Jason was turned towards the door as if trying to leave but held back by invisible leash, and Bruce watched him with eyes as telling as stone locked into a face still gaunt and abnormally pale.

 

In alien contrast Dick sat ignored at the table looking utterly dejected and still stabbing listlessly his unfinished meal.

 

Clark was no where to be seen nor was his smell in the air… or even on Bruce. Neither, Tim noticed with shock, was his bite. For the first time since he’d known the man his neck was clean; the subtle shape of his alpha’s teeth absent.

 

“You’re…” he caught himself and looked away, unsure if it was polite to mention it. “I’ll think about it. Being illegal, I mean.”

 

“Stay as an omega or pretend to be a beta,” Dick mumbled where he still sat at the table. “Must be nice to have a choice, even if it’s a lie.”

 

Jason walked out as if his leash had snapped and with a layered look Bruce followed.

 

The butler brought a plate of crust less quiche and placed it in front of Tim before returning to the counter to busy himself preparing what looked like a large leg of lamb for dinner. The meat was festooned with a rich variety of spices and accompanied with an impressive entourage of different vegetables. It was abnormal to prepare such a hearty meal when the weather was still warm but Tim guessed the high energy food was a deliberate ploy to try and put weight back on the two omegas. He was fresh out of heat and Bruce, unusually, hadn’t even begun to regain his missing body mass.

 

“You got to eat it,” Dick reminded him.

 

Tim jumped. “Yeah,” he said and fumbled with the fork. “I know.”

 

The beta watched him and waited until he choked down a bite before gesturing at the paper beside him. “Mind if I take a peek?”

 

Tim blinked and shook his head.

 

Dick reached across the table, picked up the paper and gently unfurled it to read the results emblazed inside. He blinked in surprise when he saw the number there.

 

“What’s wrong?” Tim muttered, worried.

 

“Nothing it’s just… you’re pretty low.”

 

He delivered another forkful of food into his mouth and chewed far longer than necessary before swallowing. “Is that bad?”

 

“No. God no. Bruce will tell you it’s good. It’s just… you’re less than a hundred points above me.” Dick looked strangely, sickeningly, surprised.

 

Again. “Is that bad?”

 

“No it’s just…” the acrobat’s lips tugged upward in a small sad smile, “less than a hundred points up and… you’ve crossed that line somehow.”

 

Tim was frowning. “What line?”

 

“The omega line.”

 

Tim stared at him wondering if this was yet another thing they’d failed to mention at the orphanage’s impromptu sexual eduction class.

 

Dick sighed and put the paper aside to draw and invisible V on the table with the tip of his finger. “Think about it this way. This is alpha,” he pointed to the left arm of the V. “And this is omega," he repeated the gesture to the right arm.

 

“Okay,” Tim muttered.

 

“Jason is up here somewhere,” Dick pointed to the top end of the left line. “And Bruce up here.” He repeated the same gesture on the other side. “High levels.”

 

“Okay,” Tim said again.

 

“Clark is here,” he jabbed the left arm around two thirds up its length. “A low level alpha would be around the middle here.”

 

“But…”

 

“Below that are the high level betas,” Dick trailed his finger down the invisible shape until he came to the cleft in the V. “Here are the mid level betas. Though no one is really mid level. Everyone is either a little alpha or a little omega. What are you, Alfie?”

 

Alfred looked over his shoulder as he continued his dinner preparations. “I never suffered from the desire to discover my exact numbers,” the butler replied. “I’m sure Master Bruce is aware if you’re curious.”

 

“Yeah, I’m sure he is,” Dick said with a forced grin and walked his hand up the right incline of the V. “These are the low level betas. The ones that are a little closer to omega. I’m here.”

 

“And I’m…” Tim realised.

 

“Right here,” Dick tapped the table. “Just above the low level betas. Just across that line.”

 

“What’s the line?” Tim asked, fascinated. “What’s the number?”

 

“Well, it’s a grey area actually. There are probably omegas with hormone counts lower than mine and betas with numbers higher than yours. It all depends on your waveform, how much alpha you got in you – because everyone really produces a bit of both – and how susceptible you are to the omega hormones you produce.” His smile slipped. “It’s just… kinda of funny to see how close you are to a really different life… how close I am… but if you don’t cross that line you don’t cross that line. Nothing you can do once the race is run.”

 

Tim frowned. “Who won?”

 

Dick blinked. “What?”

 

“You said it was a race,” he specified. “Is it down to beta or up to omega? Which is better?”

 

“I… neither is better, Timmy.” Dick said unsteadily. “We’re all equal.”

 

Sadly confused. “Then why do you think it’s a race?”

 

“I… um…” the beta struggled. “I… I don’t really I…”

 

“Do you want to be an omega?”

 

A long pause. Alfred paused what he was doing and looked over his shoulder to regard the acrobat.

 

“No,” Dick finally answered. “Not really.”

 

Tim tightened his hold on the fork nervously. “Should I want to be a beta?” He queried.

 

“No, Timmy. No, it’s okay.”

 

“But… Bruce wants to be a beta, doesn’t he?” Worriedly. “Is it really bad being an omega?”

 

Dick shook his head. “Bruce wants to be an omega but doesn’t want to _deal_ with being an omega.”

 

He blinked at him owlishly. “What do you mean?”

 

“Jeez, so many questions, Timmy!” A stretched silence. “I mean,” Dick continued, “he hates it when he goes into heat, or when alphas come up to him, but he sure as hell doesn’t complain when that superior sense of smell helps him track down the bad guy or when he gets to bond with Clark.”

 

“I beg to differ,” the butler interrupted. “Master Bruce truly doesn’t like being an omega but it is due to external factors. If he had a different life, if society were kinder, I believe he could be very happy in his skin.”

 

Dick blinked up. “Joining in the gossip session, Alfie?”

 

A cool look. “Never.”

 

“He’s lying,” Dick told Tim in a broad stage whisper. “He always does this. He’s a beta just like me. Can’t help himself when it comes to untwisting all these little pack mate problems.” He turned back towards the butler who watched him with a raised eyebrow. “But then why does he get all hung up alphas?” Dick challenged. “They never did anything to him.”

 

“On the contrary, Master Richard, they died.”

 

Dick opened his mouth to reply, blushed, and looked back down at his plate as the room lapsed into an uneasy silence. Tim forced himself to transfer a few more mouthfuls of food into him despite his protesting stomach and tried not to think about what it would be like walking into the eighth grade with a scent… any scent. Or whether or nor Bruce would ever let him be Robin now that he’d had to be rescued by Jason. It seemed unlikely and that knowledge made him feel small and useless in the massive manor.

 

He noticed Dick’s forearm was bandaged and thought of the tell tale scents in the cave. He wanted to ask if Dick and Jason had fought but quickly decided it would be rude to bring up something he shouldn’t have any knowledge of and discarded the action. Six gut churning mouthfuls later Dick stood to leave and pushed the folded paper back across the table towards him.

 

“You should take care of that, Timmy.”

 

He looked at it for a long time. “I… I don’t think I want it.”

 

Alfred looked at him with poorly masked disappointment and Dick rubbed the skin between his eyes. “Trust me, being a beta isn’t fun. Being an omega pretending to be a beta just sounds hard.”

 

“But you two were just talking about Bruce and you said…”

 

“Don’t think being an omega is being less,” Alfred said. “Don’t do that to yourself, Master Timothy. It is not true and such a perception will only hurt you.”

 

“Caste doesn’t matter,” Dick added. “Not really.”

 

Tim rounded on him. “Then why isn’t being a beta fun?”

 

Dick stared at him. “Okay, don’t give me those puppy eyes; you’re doing this on purpose.”

 

He frowned. “What?”

 

“Asking all those questions to get me off my base here.”

 

“What base?”

 

“Okay, that’s better. That’s a normal question.”

 

Tim put his fork gently down on the table and hoped they wouldn’t make him eat anymore. “I wouldn’t mind being a beta,” he said. “Even if it was just pretend. Jason is my only real friend here and he likes betas the most.”

 

Dick frowned. “No he doesn’t. He’s an alpha. He likes omegas.”

 

Hopelessly confused. “But didn’t you just say caste doesn’t matter?”

 

“Yes I did but… but Jason… it does to him.”

 

Tim thought of the alpha, of everything he knew of him, and shook his head numbly from side to side; denying the man’s conclusion for a simple lack of evidence.

 

“I’ve never seen him hang out with an omega. Apart from me I guess. The only omega he spends time with is Bruce and he doesn’t really like Bruce that much.” He made a face. “He _really_ doesn’t like Clark and Roy, so I don’t think he likes other alphas very much either. But he likes you.”

 

Dick looked at him for a long time. “You think that?”

 

“Yeah,” Tim blinked. “Didn’t you notice?”

 

A long pause. “That’s another one of those questions,” Dick said. “Sets me off balance…” A rough breath. “Funny thing, ‘not noticing’ is what I accused him of doing.”

 

Tim stared up at him, confused, and opened his mouth.

 

“No!” Dick held up his hands. “I think that’s all the questions I can take for one day. Just… finish your food or something.”

 

“But…”

 

“Good work on getting out of your first heat. I’ll…” Dick looked away, “see you later.”

 

Tim watched wide eyed as the beta left and turned his gaze to Alfred, silently seeking answers.

 

The butler smiled fondly at him and gestured towards his food. “All of it, young master. It’s good to get your body weight back to normal as fast as possible.”

 

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked hopelessly and looked back towards the door.

 

“Oh no,” Alfred said. “You, my boy, couldn’t have done that better.”


	16. Chapter 16

Clark followed his routine like a train slowly trundling along predetermined tracks. His days unfurled along the normal route between the apartment and the paper; the stagnant loop broken only when someone cried out for help and he could shed one guise to peddle another, brighter, personality to the world. It was a monotonous taste of what life would be like without Bruce and, to his horror, he found it frighteningly easy.

 

It was easy to exist.

 

It was easy to continue.

 

It was easy to survive.

 

What he failed to do, what he couldn’t bring himself to do, was put aside the dark cold thrill he got at the idea of the omega claiming him with all the authority society said he shouldn’t have, kissing him with a messy mix of lust and love, and looking at him armed with that small smile that was so raw, to real, it disarmed him. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t forget the startling strength of the other man’s beauty, his intelligence, or his strength all woven together to frame and shape the man, to define him, and yet be so unsubstantial in describing him. He couldn’t forget his mate, his omega, his man. Even if, once everything was on the table between them, Bruce decided to leave he knew he would never forget him.

 

He could carry on, perhaps even move on, but he would never be able to forget.

 

He left the Daily Planet later than usual, bought a hotchpotch of groceries from the midweek markets, and out of habit fumbled with his letterbox key. When he made it into his apartment he kicked the door closed and slowly went about putting the food away, wondering why he ever bothered to do this faster than a normal human would. When he was finished he finally braved a peek at the phone. A text from Pete, another from Jimmy, and a missed call from his parents. Lana had sent him something, as had Lois, and even Cat. Bruce hadn’t.

 

He swallowed his disappointment and reasoned that the man was probably still busy dealing with Tim. It had only been a few days and Bruce was the only other omega in the boy’s life; his only real lifeline. When it was over, when Bruce was free, he would call him. He would. He had too.

 

Clark returned the missed call from his parents and spent half an hour trekking through a strangely strained conversation with the two people who had fished him out of a crater in a cornfield on this day years before.

 

Two hours later he shed the bulky suit and flew to a cruise ship tangled in the thick of the Indonesian Islands that had somehow managed to scrape its hull off on an old underwater reef. A fire had broken out on deck and the panicked people were swarming from one disaster zone to another. It took over an hour to put out the fire, carry the ship to a nearby beach, and fly the urgently wounded to the nearest hospital. When he got back to the apartment the lounge room was occupied.

 

“Bruce?” Clark quested uncertainly as he dropped onto the balcony.

 

Bruce looked over his shoulder and observed his arrival with eyes coloured with familiar lazy fascination; dark and dangerously delicious.

 

Clark looked away. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Looking for you,” the omega answered and turned to face him. He wore a rumbled black suit over a gaping white shirt. In his hand he toyed with the torn edge of the golden shine paper wrapped around the elongated neck of an open champagne bottle.

 

“Why?” Clark asked blinking at the bubbling alcohol.

 

Bruce frowned. “It’s your birthday.”

 

He stared at him.

 

A strange look filtered behind the other man’s eyes. “It is, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes but…” he searched for something to say, “what about Tim?”

 

“His heat broke this morning,” the man answered slowly. “And even if it had not I don’t understand why that would stop us coming together. I really don’t.”

 

A long pause.

 

Bruce looked down at the bottle in his hand and rolled his wrist so the sparkling liquid sloshed noisily back and forth. “We’re not okay, are we,” he muttered. It wasn’t a question.

 

Clark ran his fingers through his hair and swore. “This isn’t how I wanted this to happen.”

 

Bruce didn’t look up. “Are you leaving me?”

 

“I…” he ran his tongue nervously along the edge of his teeth. “I don’t want to but…”

 

“But?”

 

A stretched silence. “We need to talk,” Clark specified.

 

Bruce nodded and looked towards the sofa. “Can I sit down?”

 

Surprised. “Sure,” he studied him as he moved across the room and saw for the first time the slight unhealthy white sheen to his skin, lank listlessness of his hair, and red bloodshot tinge in his eyes. The sight sent a pang of unease through him; an instinctual unhappiness at seeing his mate exhibit signs of poor health, however slight. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Bruce dropped the bottle on the coffee table and sat on the couch. “I’m fine.” His eyes met his and bombarded Clark with a bleak black expectation. “Talk to me.”

 

“I…” he swallowed. “I…” he didn’t know where to begin.

 

Before Bruce’s last heat everything had been fine. They’d been spiralling towards each other in a greedy haze of sex, love, and lives simply shared. But then his work had started to slip away from him; his life as Clark Kent disintegrating as it was absorbed by his new life with Bruce. While most of that shift had been beautiful the slow steady decline of presence and respect at the Planet had been torturous. But, as steep the price was, he would have paid it. No sane alpha would give up an omega like Bruce, or a relationship like the one they shared, for a job. But then Bruce had started to slip away as well, to retreat back into the uncertainties and the distance that had plagued their early relationship.

 

He’d been faced with the horrific concept of losing his job only too lose Bruce a moment later.

 

When he found out about his biological inability to pack bond Bruce’s distance started to make sense. Because Bruce’s pack was the most important thing in the world and he wouldn’t ask the man to partner with someone who would never – who _could_ never – be a part of that. He wouldn’t be so selfi—

 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce interrupted his thoughts. “Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry. I know I’m not the most supportive or respectable partner, I know I’m fucking shit when I’m out of my depth, and I know I haven’t been who you needed me to be this week.” A deep breath. “These last few days without you have been torture, Clark. I don’t know where I went wrong but I can hazard a few guesses.”

 

“Bruce,” he sighed. “You’re okay. This isn’t about you.”

 

The man didn’t look convinced.

 

Clark moved and sat down beside him, awkwardly shifting his cape under him so it bunched unceremoniously out of the way at his side. “You’ve just been distancing yourself,” he began, “but I understand that. I haven’t been a part of…”

 

Bruce frowned. “Distancing myself?”

 

A long pause. “You didn’t want to go to my parents’ house, once there you didn’t want to sleep with me, and you didn’t call me when Jason and Tim came back.”

 

Quickly. “I didn’t want to go to your parents because I was terrified of disappointing them, Clark. I didn’t sleep with you because it would be disrespectful to your mother. I didn’t call you straight away because I got into a fight with Jason.” He looked at him grimly. “This whole week has been a mess and I’m sorry.”

 

Clark looked at him sceptically. “We went there as a couple, Bruce. Why wouldn’t my mother want you to sleep with me?”

 

Simply. “We’re not married.”

 

“They know I have sex.”

 

Bruce was frowning. “She didn’t want me to sleep with you…” he didn’t sound certain of his own assessment. “It’s not… traditional.”

 

Clark hated the way he said that word. Like it was an insult, a personal affront… and it was directed at his parents.

 

“You know the first person I dated was an alpha,” he informed the omega curtly.

 

Bruce’s face slackened with unreserved surprise. “What?”

 

“ _You_ told _her_ you would rather sleep in the spare room,” Clark reminded him. “Don’t try and blame my parents for that. They’re not as _traditional_ or narrow minded as you want to believe them to be.”

 

Bruce looked hopelessly off balance. “I… I thought… you know I would have rather been with you, Clark,” he muttered. “You know that.”

 

Bitterly. “Do I?”

 

Bruce’s brow lowered. “Don’t do that. You know I love you.”

 

“Sometimes Bruce I…” he hugged his sides. “Sometimes I don’t think you could even conceive how much I love you, let alone return the feeling.”

 

Bruce looked like he’d just stabbed him; a blistering storm of hurt, betrayal, and disbelief raging destructive and desolate behind his eyes. That look bombarded against the bitter barb of anger inside him; wrecking it, and ruining him in a single gut wrenching moment.

 

“Bruce… I didn’t mean…”

 

“No…” Bruce rasped and shook his head. “No… you _know_ I love you. You know that…”

 

“I know,” he said, frantically wishing he could withdraw the words back into himself. “I do, I’m sorry, I just…”

 

“Don’t think I love you as much as you love me,” Bruce finished for him, recovering slightly. “How can you think that? After… after everything.”

 

“I don’t I…”

 

“I know I’ve let you down this week but…” he trailed off and Clark didn’t know what he could say to wipe that look from his eyes.

 

A long pause. Bruce swore and fished in his jacket pocket. He pulled out an envelope and pushed it into Clark’s hands. “That was going to be your birthday present.”

 

Clark blinked and looked distrustfully down at the clean white packaging. “Is there money in it?”

 

Bruce didn’t say anything.

 

He pushed it back towards him. “I don’t want your money.”

 

“It not just…” Bruce swallowed, scowled, and snatched the envelope from him. His voice was harsh and haggard. “Why the hell can’t I spend my money on you?” He tore open the letter, fished out the offending notes, and stuffed them in his pocket.

 

“I don’t want to be paid for,” Clark mumbled.

 

“You are not my whore, Clark.” He pushed the gutted envelope back towards him. “You’re anything but that.”

 

Stunned Clark took the object back and pulled out the folded white paper still inside. He dropped the envelope on his lap and unfurled the document. It was a printed readout from a computer. He blinked at the string of numbers filtered down the page and then back up at Bruce. “What’s this?”

 

The omega didn’t meet his eye. “It’s what’s in my blood,” he answered. “I had to test Tim and so I tested myself as well for a control.” A deep breath. “I noticed some irregularities and so investigated. Do you see number at the bottom left?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“That’s the amount of targeted omega hormones by body is producing. That number above it is my total amount. On the next page I tested the addictive…”

 

Realisation struck like a bolt of lightening. “You’re bonded,” he said in disbelief. “That’s what you’re trying to say isn’t it?”

 

Bruce didn’t move. A deer caught in the headlights.

 

“You’re…” he struggled. “…to me?”

 

Slowly. “Yes Clark.”

 

Clark stared at him. “A-are you sure? I mean… I don’t feel anything and… it’s only been a few months…”

 

“I had a minor addiction to you before you started biting me,” Bruce confessed. “We’ve been having sex for over a year now. Mating for most of that time. You wouldn’t have received a high dose of hormones from that but… I did.”

 

“Are you sure? Did you do the test again?”

 

Bruce sighed. “I don’t need to.”

 

Uncertainly. “They can be false positives, you know.”

 

“Look at me,” the omega motioned towards his face. “I’m going through withdrawal, Clark.”

 

He stared at him. At the fallow cheeks, pale skin, and bloodshot eyes. Saw it all again with new, terrifying, understanding.

 

“We haven’t had sex, or even kissed, since my heat,” the omega continued. “I’ve been exhibiting minor bond withdrawal symptoms for the last few days. I must have bonded to you at some point during my heat. Or maybe shortly before hand. That would explain why I was so insistent on _you_ when I walked out of my nest and not just… any alpha.”

 

Clark fished for the right thing to say. Failing that he raked his brain for anything to say.

 

“I wouldn’t bond so fast with someone I didn’t love,” Bruce continued. “Physically – _chemically_ – it just wouldn’t happen. I know it’ll probably be a few months before you complete the bond but… I just wanted you to know I’m there. I’m waiting for you… if you still want it.”

 

“Bruce…” he tried desperately. “I… I’m sorry I...”

 

“I do love you, Clark. I do. I have nothing but love and respect for you. I just don’t show it because I… I’ve never been good at _showing_ this kind of thing. I thought you knew that.”

 

He stared at him and felt something inside wither with guilt. Bruce was giving himself to him - he had _given_ himself to him - and he would never be able to honour him enough for that. He would never be able to be a part of his family, his pack, in a way that Bruce deserved from his mate. Disabled by his alien DNA the most he would ever be able to do was complete that bond but he would never be able to extend that hormonal recognition to the rest of the pack.

 

“I know I haven’t been good for you,” Bruce continued frowning down at his hands. “I know I’m not what your parents wanted. I know I’ve not been the best mate. But I don’t want you to leave. I don’t.”

 

He had to tell him… had to…

 

“I can’t pack bond, Bruce.”

 

Steel blue eyes danced back his lock onto his. “What?”

 

“Kryptonians,” he explained miserably. “We don’t form packs. We mate but we…”

 

“Like birds.”

 

He twisted the fabric of his cape through his fingers. “Birds?”

 

“Just two,” Bruce specified. “Like birds.”

 

Uncertainly. “I suppose…”

 

Bruce looked down. “I knew something like this would come up eventually.”

 

Clark swallowed a lump of emotion. “You did?”

 

“You’re an alien. It’s a miracle you’re as hormonally combatable as you are.”

 

“But Bruce I… I’ll never be part of your pack. Your pack is your family and if I can’t be…”

 

“When Tim and Jason were missing you flew me back, you stood by us, and you searched for them when I asked you too. Pack isn’t just about blood, or hormones, or instinct Clark. You were there for us and as far as I’m concerned that means you’re as much a part of that pack as any of us… as long as you want to be.”

 

Clark stared at him. “This is a dream, isn’t it?”

 

Bruce looked up.

 

“I… I’ve been terrified I’m losing you and now you come here… and say you’re bonded to me? That I’m part of your pack?” A horse laugh. “Have you brainwashed Perry too?”

 

The other man frowned. “Your boss? What’s wrong with your boss?”

 

“No, nothing it’s… it’s not important now.” He reached forward and slowly, carefully, laid his hand on Bruce’s cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

 

Bruce’s eyes moved up to lock back onto his. “If you want to.”

 

It was all the invitation he needed.

 

Clark leant forward and kissed Bruce in a way he had almost believed he never would again. It was a kiss full of desperate apology, relief, and a saturating love that washed between them like the tide; constant, unstoppable, and bewitchingly beautiful.

 

Bruce shuddered, reached up to seize his face, and slid into his mouth with a starved urgency. Clark let the other man taste him, take him, and move against him with a hunger born of his new bond and wondered how he missed such an intrinsic change. How he had missed the slow sure targeting of the other man’s need.

 

Clark knew it would be hard. Nothing about Bruce was ever easy and being part of his life, his pack, and all as his partner wouldn’t be any easier now than it had been before; especially now they were nurturing the beginnings of a bond between them. But after the last few days, after the sickening grey ease of the time he spent without him, he didn’t want it any other way.

 

He sucked on the other man’s tongue, wrapped his arms around him, and rocked forward until Bruce fell back onto the sofa and he moved on top of him.

 

“Wait,” Bruce broke away from his lips with a gasp. “I… this isn’t a good time.”

 

Breathlessly. “Why?”

 

“I…” Bruce shifted uncomfortably. “It’s a week after my heat.”

 

“So?”

 

He looked at him incredulously. “I’m bleeding, Clark.”

 

A horse laugh. “I think I’ll survive.” He paused. “Unless you don’t want to?”

 

“I… I don’t mind but…” he licked his lips nervously. “It is your birthday so if you want me to…” he hesitated.

 

“What?”

 

“Be an omega,” Bruce explained.

 

Confused. “You are an omega.”

 

“I mean, _act_ like an omega. If you want me to submit then…”

 

“Don’t you _dare_ be so boring,” he growled.

 

“Huh,” Bruce’s lips curled. “You make more sense now that I know you’re a bit queer.” He leant forward and snapped at his lips. “Do you want me to act like an alpha, baby?”

 

“A bit queer?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle gay. You and Catwoman weren’t exactly secret.”

 

“Hah,” Bruce’s smile grew to show his canines. “We’re omegas. It’s hot when we do it.”

 

“Trust me,” he replied, “it’s hot when alphas do it too.”

 

Bruce shot him a challenging look and made a show of swallowing as if he had too much saliva in his mouth; as if he were an alpha. “Show me.”


	17. Chapter 17

Dick had always been a natural performer.

 

When he was five he could do the trampoline, by the time he was six he was on the tightrope, and when he was seven he had mastered the trapeze. It came naturally to him; the movement, the pose, and the thunderous applause when he landed with a theatrical bow; when he got it right.

 

And he always got it right.

 

He’d never slipped, stumbled, and never fallen.

 

Until now.

 

He sat on the spot of the lawn Jason always used to sit and hugged his knees to his chest hating the too bright sunlight, the throaty cry of a nearby crow, and the achingly empty spot on the grass beside him.

 

Only a few months ago he’d lain here with Jason and there had been nothing bad between them. No history, no hurt, and no heartbreak. It had been easy, so easy, and it would have been easier still to just roll over, kiss him, and tell him how much he loved him. Right then, right there, before any of this could start. Because he did love him. He had always loved Jason in one way or another. Even when he was the pouting boy that had shoulder charged him out of the Robin role, the cocky fifteen year old standing on his toes behind a bar trying to order alcohol, and the addictive adult alpha kissing him until his head spun from the taste of it.

 

But, most of all, he loved him when he looked at him. Because when Jason looked at him, _really_ looked at him, the intensity of his attention was intoxicating. A raw rendering gaze that silently demanded he leave all reason behind and take what he wanted with the simple savagery of an animal. Because when Jason looked at him, he drove him wild.

 

“What the hell are you doing out here? It took me ages to find you.” Roy slumped down on the grass beside him, red hair a jarring orange in the sunlight, and tattoos strangely green against the tanned colour of his skin. “What’s this about, huh? I was in the middle of something important.”

 

Desolately. “What?”

 

The alpha frowned and pulled his cap down over his eyes. “I’m looking for a woman who goes by the name Cheshire. She is an assassin and she owes me.”

 

Dick looked down at his feet. “Oh.”

 

“Now will you tell me what this is about?”

 

“I…” he stared at the manicured lawn and worked his bare feet into the shorn green grass. “I need to tell you something.”

 

The other man grunted. “What the hell is going on, Dick?”

 

_I had sex with Jason._

 

He couldn’t just say it. He couldn’t conjure the single sentence that would inform the irritated alpha of his actions; of his betrayal. He couldn’t do it because, despite everything he had thought he knew about himself, he still wasn’t brave enough to face this man without some explanation. He needed something to soothe and make sense of the mess around him, to shield them both against the bitter truth he was about to share, and to hide behind when their fledgling relationship fell to pieces. He told himself it was a beta impulse, an instinct, and not cowardice.

 

“You know,” Dick said; a careful avoidance. “This pack has been a real mess lately.”

 

Roy stared at him.

 

“I k-know all packs have drama and all, but just this week everything has been like a train wreck happening in slow motion. Each carriage has popped off the rails one by one and crashed down in a heap of twisted metal on the side of the track.” He didn’t look up from where he worked his toes into the lush green grass. “The funny thing is the train was running fine before I came back. Sure, there was a rattle here and there but everything was still… okay.”

 

“Where are you going with this?” The alpha growled. “I don’t have time.”

 

“Just hear me out. Please.”

 

When Roy didn’t say anything he took a deep breath and continued. “I have spent my whole life being this person that helps people and… more than just a beta, you know? I was the good guy. I was always the good guy. But now I’m looking at everything that has happened over the last few days and I… I don’t think I’m the good guy anymore. In fact I think I’m the one that fucked everything up the most and… God but I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore.”

 

“You called me over here to share a life crisis,” Roy concluded.

 

“No,” Dick finally looked up and met his green grey eyes glaring at him from the shadow of his cap. “I called you here to tell you I cheated on you.”

 

Roy stared at him. “What?”

 

“I cheated on you. I’m so sorry I… I honestly wasn’t thinking and… I can’t… I can’t begin to say this right. I’m sorry.”

 

His words sounded forced, fragile, and fake. He hated that he sounded like that, hated the weakness he exhibited, hated that no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t regret this more than he regretted not going to Jason the first moment he got back from the dead and stealing his attention so thoroughly he would never even notice anyone else ever again.

 

It was stupid, it was selfish, it was childish, and it was a lot more besides; but it was what he wanted and he hated himself for it.

 

“Why?” Roy rumbled.

 

“I… I didn’t think,” he tried to explain. “It was…”

 

“No,” Roy stopped him. “Why are you telling me?”

 

He blinked. “I thought I… I…”

 

“You cheated,” Roy said stiffly, angrily, “and that’s fucking messed up. But why the hell are you telling me about it? If it was a one time thing, a mistake, you wouldn’t tell me; you would swallow that godforsaken guilt and go on because that’s the decent thing to do.”

 

Dick stared at him, confused.

 

“Why would you push this fucking mess onto me,” Roy continued bitterly, “why would you make me feel like utter shit, if this wasn’t going to change anything between us? You wouldn’t unless you bare backed and picked something up you need to tell me about or it’s not a one time thing.” His voice scraped with bitter emotion. Accusation and betrayal. “So which is it, Dick? Have you got something else or someone else?”

 

Dick stared at him. “It’s not… I thought you…”

 

“Answer me!”

 

“Fuck man…” he wiped his forearm across his eyes. “I… I don’t… I didn’t…”

 

Roy glared at him.

 

“Someone,” he rasped. “It’s someone but… but I don’t think I…”

 

“Would you fuck them again?”

 

He opened his mouth to deny it but as he did the memory of the last kiss Jason had landed on his lips stole away his denial. The fierce frantic taste of the other man’s lips as he pressed him into the jagged hood of an old batmobile and kissed him for the last time.

 

His silence was as telling as if the bitter confession had been printed on the air in front of their eyes. He would have sex with Jason again. He would because no matter how far he ran he still hadn’t managed to escape him. Not completely. Not enough to free himself from his own childish infatuation; a feeling with seeds planted deeper than he could ever had conceived; planted when he first met Jason a decade before.

 

“Who is it?”

 

He closed his eyes. He hadn’t been the good guy lately but he would be the good guy again. It was who he was. It was who he wanted to be. It was who he decided to be when he first saw Superman on TV as the big top was raised behind him.

 

A good guy wouldn’t lie.

 

“Jason,” he answered. “It’s Jason.”

 

A long silence. “That son of a bitch.”

 

Dick looked up in shock as Roy lurched onto his feet and strode back towards the manor; eyes flashing and lips pinched into a tight white line.

 

“Wait! No!” He scrambled to his feet and bolted after the alpha. “Don’t!”

 

Roy didn’t slow.

 

“Roy, please,” he followed him. “Don’t hurt Jason.”

 

“Why the hell not?”

 

“I’m the one that stabbed you in the back, not him. Don’t bring him into it.”

 

Teeth flashed. “If he didn’t want to be brought into it he shouldn’t have shoved his dick into it!”

 

He grabbed Roy’s arm, stopping him. “It’s not like that. I came on to him.”

 

“Which is fucked up!” Roy shrugged him off. “He’s like your brother!”

 

Dick stared at him. “He’s not my brother. He was never like that. I don’t see him like that.”

 

Roy glared at him. “Yeah, arsehole, I figured.”

 

The trapeze had snapped and he could feel himself falling; the air sharp and painful, the ground a sawdust covered full stop rising to meet him. But he was a performer, a good guy, and no matter how horrid the situation he would take it. It was all he deserved after the last week.

 

“Look,” he tried. “I messed up big time and I know it. I know I should have told you but… I’ve been with Jason before. The reason why I left was because I needed to get away from him. From the way I felt about him. I thought if I kept my distance it would be okay but I was wrong and I’m so sorry.”

 

“I was your rebound,” Roy concluded bitterly.

 

“I never wanted it to be like this,” Dick continued desperately. “I wanted to be over him, I swear. I thought… I thought I was. I thought if I told him, if I told myself, I was over him enough times it would be true. I wanted you. I wanted to be better with you.” A rough breath. “You’ve never hurt me, you’ve never… you’re the better alpha, Roy. But I can’t stop thinking about him. I’m so sorry. I know how bad this is. I know I used you.” A shaky breath. “I’ll be better. I promise.”

 

“If you think I’m going to stick with you after what you just said, you’ve got another thing coming.”

 

He flinched but forced himself not to look away; forced himself to face the consequences of his actions.

 

Roy continued towards the manor and Dick grabbed his arm again.

 

“Please don’t.”

 

The alpha’s hand locked onto his forearm. He gasped in pain as the archer’s fingers grazed against the wound there. “Leave me alone,” Roy growled and pushed him off him.

 

Dick staggered back, hugged his arm to his chest, and doggedly followed the other man as he disappeared into the manor. As if through some cruel twist of fate, or a sick god’s punch line, Jason’s scent hung thick in the air; an unmistakable indicator of his close proximity. He saw Roy swing his head from side to side; angrily trying to determine the direction of the trail.

 

“This has nothing to do with Jason,” Dick tried again.

 

“The hell it doesn’t.”

 

“For fucks sake, if you’re going to hit someone hit me!” He cried. “I’m the one that deserves it.”

 

Roy spun around to face him. “Why the hell are you defending him, huh?!”

 

He felt his face heat with emotion. “I’m not! I’m telling you this was my mistake and I’m strong enough to take the fucking blame!”

 

Roy snorted. “It takes two to fuck.”

 

“Yeah, but it takes one to fuck up.”

 

Roy stepped towards him; blocking the light and laying his shadow over him like a glove thrown down in challenge. “But that isn’t all you did, is it, slut.”

 

“What did you call him?”

 

Dick stiffened and looked at the door as Jason walked slowly into the room, eyes black and hands balled to fists at his sides.

 

Roy twitched and turned. “I called him what he is, arsehole.”

 

Jason glared at the other alpha. “Get out.”

 

“Why should I?!”

 

“He’s part of this pack,” Jason informed him with a snarl. “You aren’t. Get out.”

 

“This ain’t pack business,” Roy snapped. “This is about you, me, and him.”

 

Jason’s lip curled. “He told you, huh?” His gaze swung back to Dick. “I was wondering if you really would.”

 

“Why, Jason?!” The other alpha roared. “Why? Why would you even look at him with an omega like yours?”

 

Jason scowled. “I don’t have an omega.”

 

“Bullshit,” Roy snapped. “There is a high level bitch in this house. I can smell it.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “Not my bitch.”

 

“Huh. What about the other one?” Roy challenged. “Because I’m not scent-blind. You have at least two here. You expect me to believe you live here as the only alpha without having either of them?”

 

Jason’s glare was colder than ice. “Not the only alpha.”

 

“You’re a high level you stupid mutt!” He yelled. “You don’t need a fucking beta! You can get a bitch. If not this one, or that one, then some other one.”

 

Dick felt stricken. “You said you liked betas…” he mumbled, hurt.

 

“And you said you liked me,” Roy shot back at him.

 

“I do,” Dick said desperately.

 

“Yeah fucking right.”

 

Jason’s eyes moved between them; alight with deep dark satisfaction. When he noticed Dick’s gaze on him he rounded his gaze to meet his. Dark blue eyes bore into him; smouldering with unembarrassed black appreciation for the disaster that was unfurling around him. But there was something missing in that look; his usual angry confidence was gone to be replaced with an almost unreadable uncertainty. Jason wanted this to happen – he knew that much and didn’t hide it – but he didn’t quite know what he expected to happen next. He didn’t know what came after this and what it would leave him with… if anything. But the fierce targeted direction of the alpha’s gaze revealed in no uncertain terms what he hoped for; what he wanted.

 

Roy glanced between the two, read the look they shared, and without any further preamble backhanded Jason hard across the face.

 

Caught off guard, the brutal angle of the blow knocked him backward. He thudded against the wall with a low grunt and brought a hand came up to wipe irritably under his nose as hot red blood splashed unreservedly down the bottom half of his face. When he looked up his eyes locked onto the other alpha with animalistic understanding. Teeth flashed a startling white amongst the red.

 

“No!” Dick charged forward. “Not again. Not again.”

 

There had been too much fighting in this house over the last few months and too much of it had circled around Jason. He had a gravitational pull that invited collision, a car driving the wrong way down a one way street, but no matter how juvenile the alpha was, no matter how justified he thought he was, Dick wasn’t going to let that trend continue. This wasn’t Jason’s fight. Not really.

 

“If you’re going to hit someone, hit me,” he declared as he wedged himself between the two alphas. “I’m not dealing with any more of this kind of bullshit!”

 

Roy glared at him. “Fine.”

 

Dick had been hit before. It was just a part of the whole hero gig to take in on the chin once in a while. Even so, Roy had a _mean_ right hook. It reminded him when he was fourteen and, during training, he had missed his mark and accidentally caught the full force of one of Batman’s punches. Since then they were much more careful in training and Bruce rarely sparred all out with them. Still the memory remained and flared hot behind his eyes as he stumbled back.

 

Jason surged forward but Dick threw out an arm to stop him.

 

“Okay,” he breathed and rubbed his sure to be bruising cheek. “Okay, we’re even now, right?” He hadn’t wanted it end like this. He had hoped they could just talk about it, cry about it, like adults. But there was something to be said for physical retribution. Something primal and satisfying; even when it was being dolled out against him.

 

“Yeah,” Roy scowled. “We’re even.” He looked over Dick’s shoulder at Jason. “You’re welcome to him, arsehole.”

 

“Fuck off,” the other alpha snarled.

 

“Gladly.” Roy pulled his cap down over his eyes, shoved his hands in his pockets, and strode out the door without a backward glance.

 

“I could have taken him,” Jason rumbled.

 

He sighed. “You’re such an idiot.”

 

“Yeah?” To his shock Jason sat down on the ground behind him and fell onto his back. “You’re a shit beta.”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“What does it look like? I’m lying down.” Jason said angrily. “If you were a better beta you wouldn’t have dated such a loser. None of this would have happened.”

 

Dick blinked down at him in disbelief. “You’re blaming me?”

 

“Why not? You’re blaming yourself.”

 

“I… okay, seriously, why the fuck are you on the floor?” He snapped.

 

“My nose is bleeding.”

 

“And?”

 

“Nose bleeds always go away faster if I lie down,” he informed him and wiped away some of the fresh blood off on his sleeve.

 

Dick frowned. “I can’t look down at you and talk.”

 

“Then lie down.”

 

He opened his mouth to deny him, swore instead, and sat down heavily on the carpeted floor. “You’re right,” he said. “I am a shit beta. This whole thing is my fault. I shouldn’t have…”

 

“Dated that loser,” Jason interjected.

 

“… gone against my instincts and get fucked by an idiot like you,” he ploughed on. “If I had been better, if I had walked away, none of this would have happened.” He rubbed his cheek and flinched. “You know what the definition of madness is? It’s doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I’ve already been fucked by you, and fucked over by you, and yet I let you do it again,” a pause, “and here I am again.”

 

A performer stuck on an old tired show long after the audience had left.

 

Jason shifted nervously beside him. “Do you wanna go out?”

 

He lifted an eyebrow. “Go out?”

 

He watched Jason’s hand tug unhappily at his sleeve. “Like… together?”

 

“Together?” He echoed.

 

“Yeah.” Uncertainly. “Do you?”

 

Dick choked back a laugh and slumped back down beside him. “You’re such an idiot.”

 

Jason frowned, half his face mattered in rapidly drying blood.

 

“And I’m a shit beta?” Dick prompted.

 

“I guess,” the alpha muttered and looked away.

 

“Well, I guess it’s okay then.”

 

Jason’s eyes flashed back to his.

 

“Only an idiot and a shit beta could start this whole mess over again literally a minute after I broke up. I mean, who does that? Except for idiots and shitty betas. Especially since we’ve had sex twice and both times everything went to hell because of it. I honestly can not communicate enough how fucking stupid this whole…”

 

Jason reached out, turned his face towards him, and pressed their lips together in a warm wet kiss. It tasted like blood, alpha, and… Jason. It wasn’t a particularly nice kiss, it wasn’t even comfortable lying on the floor, but the moment it connected he knew he was doomed. He was doomed because at that moment he felt more singularly happy and whole than he had in months despite the disastrous day behind him and the decidedly dangerous future yet to come. He was doomed because, despite everything, there was nothing in the world he would rather be doing than kissing Jason Todd. And kissing him the way he was now; with the open promise, the hope, that he would be able to do so until the day he died.

 

They kissed and for the first time there was nothing finite about it… nothing that could weight down the simple beauty of the moment. Nothing…

 

“Guys…”

 

Their lips broke with a wet sound and they looked up.

 

Tim stood in the doorway looking decidedly mortified. “I walk on that floor.”

 

Jason groaned.

 

“Sometimes in bare feet.”

 

“Kid…”

 

“Please don’t do anything disgusting on it, okay?”


	18. Chapter 18

Bruce had always assumed when he bonded he would know the moment it happened. It was a foolish assumption, unsubstantiated, but it was something he had believed regardless. Perhaps, he had thought, it would be a surge of pleasure, or perhaps a moment of unreserved understanding, or maybe just a _click_ like someone flicking a switch in his head. But instead his body had bonded, either during his heat or shortly beforehand, without informing him. Now he felt cheated and wronged as if someone had stolen that moment from him. He didn’t know exactly when it had happened. He didn’t know the kiss, or thrust, or taste of skin, that had finally tipped him over into full blown addiction - that had bound him to Clark - and that ignorance prickled unhappily at the back of his brain.

 

It didn’t matter, he told himself, the moment didn’t matter; all that mattered was Clark. The blood, the bond, and the bite on his neck were all just accessories to the alpha, to the man, to what really mattered.

 

But… all the same… he would have liked to have the moment. He would liked to have known.

 

“How was that?”

 

“Perfect,” he answered.

 

Tim’s face split in a wide grin. “Really?”

 

Bruce shifted where he stood and regarded the boy. Tim had been picking up the skills quickly in an artificial sense. At this point he could perform the routines better than Dick or Jason, yet he lacked Dick’s fluidness and Jason’s natural sense of placement. He knew the moves but, without an edge, Bruce feared he would be too ridged and predictable and, without the raw natural talent, he doubted he would be able to effectively adapt his new skills to a fighting situation.

 

Tim’s true skill wasn’t in the physical, it was in detective work. The boy had an uncanny ability to know which questions to ask and was already a dangerously talented hacker. But there was no way Tim was going to be talked out of the role as Robin to sit at a computer. Of all his traits determination was easily one of the strongest and he was determined to be the next boy wonder.

 

Bruce sighed and leant back against the wall. “Again.”

 

Tim jumped to obey and cycled through the same moves with mathematical precision. Halfway through Bruce stepped forward and filled in for the invisible adversary. He grunted in satisfaction as Tim instantly adapted the sequence for an opponent of his hight and stature. When he changed the fighting style Tim bit his lip in concentration and retaliated correctly.

 

He didn’t have the edge the other boys had but, Bruce reasoned, he was dedicated. He had also managed to evade Jason for over an hour when he first started scenting. Jason may not be able to fly between rooftops like Dick could but he was fast, a good tracker, and skilled at using his environment to his advantage; especially in a street setting.

 

“Jason said you were good with a quarterstaff,” Bruce muttered as they finished.

 

“Yeah,” the boy’s cheeks were red with excitement. “Do you want to see?”

 

He regarded him coolly. “Show me defensive.”

 

Tim scampered off to the weapons rack, selected the staff, and returned to plough through the demonstration, brows furrowed with concentration. He was good but, again, too textbook. The kind of fighting that would get him passed all the exams but was too regimented to likely be effective against a real attacker.

 

“Have you decided what you’re going to do about your papers?” Bruce asked, hoping conversation would ease the boy into a more casual mind frame.

 

“I want to be an omega,” Tim answered.

 

Bruce nudged the boy’s heel with the toe of his shoe, reminding him to move his feet. “Why?”

 

“Because that’s what I am.”

 

He frowned. “It’s easier being a beta.”

 

Tim shrugged. “It’s not what I am.”

 

Bruce grunted and circled back around to observe him from the front.

 

“Do you miss pretending to be a beta?” Tim asked as he transferred the weapon from one hand to another. “I mean, everyone thought you were a beta for… ever. Do you wish you could be a beta again?”

 

He didn’t answer.

 

“You don’t go to many charity things anymore. When I was in the orphanage you always used to attend those ones at least.” Tim spun the staff between them. “Are you afraid they’ll see Clark’s bite? I think you could hide it. When I first came it looked really obvious but now it doesn’t.” A nervous pause. “I’m glad it’s on you, by the way.”

 

He regarded the boy carefully.

 

“It wasn’t on you the other day,” Tim continued as he moved to demonstrate a different stance and style. “I thought maybe Superman was really busy or something. Or maybe you two had a fight. It’s good that it’s on you again.”

 

He reached up and traced the curved shape of the mark on his neck. He hadn’t noticed its absence but bites usually didn’t take too long to fade. Another thing he had missed. “Keep up your left guard.”

 

Tim obeyed. “What does a bite feel like? Does it hurt? Is it really fast or does it take a while? Do you ever bleed? How do you initiate it? Do you just poke him in the ribs and say ‘hey do you want to…?”

 

“You’re too young to worry about bites,” he growled.

 

Tim twirled the weapon before him. “How old do I have to be before I can worry about bites?”

 

“Left guard,” he reminded him sharply. “Older.”

 

The boy blushed and continued the exercise in silence. When he was finished he held the staff horizontally in the palms of his hands and looked tentatively up at him. “Actually, I knew you and Clark weren’t fighting.”

 

“How did you know that?” He rumbled.

 

“Dick and Jason fight, you and Jason fight, but Clark is always nice to you. He never says anything bad. Sometimes I think he doesn’t say bad things even when there are bad things to say.”

 

Bruce eyed him carefully. “What makes you think that?”

 

The boy shrugged. “It’s just sometimes he seems to swallow things that Jason would spit out and Alfred would choke on a little. Like if he’s angry at you he won’t say it and if there is something important he won’t say it… not loud anyway.”

 

The training area pitched into an awkward silence as Bruce frowned down at the boy. Tim nervously palmed the staff still resting through the crook of his fingers and chewed his lip as he waited for his next instruction.

 

“The next time the signal goes up,” Bruce began. “I want you to come with me.”

 

Tim blinked and his lips twitched traitorously towards a grin. “R-really?”

 

“I want to hear your take on some of Gordan’s men,” he confirmed. “Until then keep practising. You still need to complete the training I set with Dick.”

 

“Yeah! I will!” A wide, happy, smile. “Thanks Bruce.”

 

An hour later he sat alone in the cave and stared at the now empty training ring. Tim’s words rolled over in his mind like a bundle of seaweed caught in the wave; always bobbing to the surface in a dense damp mass; dark and creeping like doubt. He was right. Clark didn’t tell him when something went wrong. Not anymore. He used to when they were just friends but in the wake of their relationship the other man had become more careful in the things he told him. The truth about Clark’s packless biology was proof enough of that; he hadn’t wanted to tell him in fear of what that information would do to their relationship.

 

The revelation was gut wrenching. It meant that Clark didn’t trust him not to end their relationship over something trivial, didn’t trust him with the potentially negative aspects of his life, didn’t trust him... He supposed, grimly, he could see the root of that mistrust sprouting from the seeds he had sown when they had first got together; the stupid uncertainty he had courted interlaced with his mistrust of the other man’s caste could have easily set Clark on very tentative footing; walking on the very edge of the road they were meant to be journeying down together.

 

He didn’t want that.

 

But if Clark wasn’t talking to him about things that were important to him, things that were hurting him, things that were hurting them… then there was little he could safely do. The miscommunication that had hounded them this past week would return again and again unless he could learn to listen and Clark could learn to talk to him like they used to.

 

Right now everything may be alright… or was it? Before they’d last had sex Clark had said something about Perry. He knew Clark had been having some trouble at work lately but he didn’t know the specifics. Was it about his last heat? Superman? The paperwork he couldn’t supply? Or perhaps something else? Was it important? Why would Clark tell him it wasn’t important only when he confirmed they were staying together?

 

With numb fingers he reached over to the computer and typed Clark’s work number from memory into the keyboard. It rang four and a half times before a breathless voie answered.

 

“Yeah? You’ve reached the Daily Planet newsroom.”

 

“I’m looking for Mr Kent,” he told the all too familiar voice.

 

“Oh, he’s flying around somewhere. I’m Lois Lane. Is there anything I can do for you Mr…?”

 

He was about to hang up but then reconsidered. “I’m his mate,” he answered instead. “I was wondering, how is Clark there?”

 

A pause. “It’s about time you started paying attention,” the woman told him. “You may be too late.”

 

“Why?” He rumbled.

 

“Well, as far as I can tell Clark has, not for the first time on your account, decided he would rather be fired than figure something out with you. Now, I get you’re a big name, Mr Mystery, and that putting in your paperwork could accidentally show his shield but we need to figure something out if he’s going to keep this job.”

 

Quickly. “You know about Superman?”

 

The woman snorted. “I am an investigative reporter and, I don’t know if he mentioned, but I did used to date the guy. It took me a while but I did see through those glasses eventually. Now, about Clark; if you could rustle up an idea, pronto, you’ll save your mate’s arse if it isn’t already too far out the window.”

 

Bruce thought back to the muddied hours after his heat and the bits and pieces of conversation he remembered. Damn it but Clark had said things were getting tricker at work but Bruce never thought he was on the verge of losing his job. But how could he help him? He couldn’t submit the paperwork without risking Clark’s secret identity and subsequently the safety of his pack.

 

But, the bite on his neck as proof, he couldn’t hide forever. There were already photos of him carrying Clark’s mark making their rounds online filled with a safely broad amount of speculation. How could he pull Clark from this mess without exposing him? How could he help his mate while keeping the vultures that circled his playboy persona at bay?

 

“Who looks at the paperwork?” He questioned.

 

“The big bosses. Bigger than Perry. If you’re thinking about trying for an alias you can but if this thing you two have got is going to be long term I wouldn’t risk it. If you two ever bond they’ll want an in person blood reference.”

 

He swore.

 

“Yeah,” Lois replied. “Exactly.”

 

It was common practise for companies to demand alphas to provide paperwork for their mates; it stopped unattached alphas inventing a partner and using the ‘heat’ excuse to slip out of the office for a week off every couple of months. Considering how long they had been exclusively mating it was a miracle it had taken this long for Clark to fall out of favour with his boss. He should have seen this coming… should have realised why Clark was asking for his paperwork again… should have… known.

 

“What can I do?”

 

The woman sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know. Unless you’re rich enough to buy the whole paper and change regulation I don’t see…”

 

“I am.”

 

A long pause. “You are?”

 

“Will that help him?” He pushed. “Buying the Daily Planet?”

 

“Oh boy,” the connection crackled. “I knew I recognised that voice. You’re Bruce Wayne aren’t you?”

 

“Will it?”

 

A low growl. “No, it won’t.”

 

Bruce looked over his shoulder and studied the man floating silently in the cave behind him. Clark’s hair was windswept, costume blazing its conventional colours, and eyes touched with an ominous hint of red. With a quick motion Bruce cut off the call, giving them a private moment in space, and turned to face him fully.

 

“I want to help you, Clark.”

 

Stiffly. “You can’t.”

 

“It’s my fault you’re in this position at work,” he protested.

 

“So? That never bothered you before.” He dropped out of the air to land harder than normal on the cave floor. “I thought we made up the other night, Bruce. I thought we were good. That everything was okay between us. Why are you doing this?”

 

He frowned. “You’re talking as if I betrayed you. I’m trying to help you.”

 

“By buying my workplace? I told you I don’t want to be paid for. I told you that. I also told you this business with Perry wasn’t important. Why the hell don’t you trust me?”

 

“You’re _not_ paid for,” he said angrily. “I have the ability to help you, why can’t I help you?”

 

“You’re not helping me by turning Clark Kent into the guy that fucks the boss,” the alien responded sharply. “Do you really think I’ll still be a respected journalist once that little piece of information gets out? Sure, Superman might be safe, but where does that leave the rest of me?”

 

“If I buy the planet I can overturn the rule,” Bruce protested. “I know it’s abnormal for a workplace not to require papers for this but it isn’t unheard of.”

 

“I told you this didn’t matter anymore,” Clark continued. “I told you it wasn’t important. You never cared when it was important, when I was asking for your papers. Why the hell do you care now?”

 

He fixed him with a blistering glare. “You’re letting yourself get fired, for me.”

 

Clark was unimpressed. “No, I’m letting myself get fired for me. It’s my identity we’re protecting here, Bruce.”

 

“If I wasn’t your mate you wouldn’t have to choose between your identity and your job.”

 

Angrily. “I love that job, Bruce. I love it. But I love you more.”

 

“You’ve already given up so much for me, Clark.”

 

“No, Bruce,” he held up his hands, “I haven’t. I have hardly given up anything for you. You give up more for me every time you go into heat than I have _ever_ given up for you. Your health, your awareness… You’re bonded to me. I… my addiction to you is still barely there.”

 

“That’s just because I’m the omega,” he said dismissively.

 

“So?”

 

Bruce’s brows lowered. “I’m not going to punish you for an accident of birth!”

 

Clark crossed his arms. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t take more than I give.”

 

Bruce stared at him incredulously. “You give me more than I could ever ask for, Clark. You hardly ask for anything in return. I’m allowed to dominate you, I was allowed to mate you but deny your bite for a ridiculous amount of time, and in this relationship I’m the one that has uprooted you. You’re the one that’s coming into my household, my life, much more than I am into yours.”

 

Clark remained stubbornly unmoved. “It’s only fair.”

 

“Look,” he tried to move the conversation forward, “I can help you. I would have been able to help you a whole lot better if you’d told me how much trouble you were in and how important this was when we first got together. I could have set up a secret identity in that time, worked something out.” A long pause. “You’re my mate, Clark. I need you to talk to me. Not just about the good things but also the bad.”

 

“Because if I don’t you’ll go behind my back and buy my boss,” he accused.

 

Low. “That is not what this is about, Clark.”

 

The alien looked aside. “I can sort out my own problems, you know.”

 

“By letting yourself get fired?” He questioned as he pushed himself to his feet. “Or by not telling me anything so I have to hear it through your ex girlfriend?”

 

“We managed to get through this mess of a week without fighting,” Clark said. “We made up. Why the hell are you starting this now?”

 

“This whole fucked up week happened because we didn’t talk to each other,” Bruce reminded him. “We need to talk to each other. If we fight once in a while, so what? I need you to trust me not to leave you. I need you to trust me when I say I love you.”

 

Clark looked up. “I’m sorry, it’s a bit hard to trust you when I catch you conspiring to buy my paper just to get me out of trouble.”

 

“I was phoning you!”

 

“Really?” Clark asked sceptically. “Want to try my mobile next time?”

 

“For fucks sake! You’ve been tiptoeing around me, Clark. I’m not going to push you away if you come closer.”

 

“Sometimes, Bruce, you act like you hate me. Like you don’t want to be bothered with me. How is that an invitation to come closer?”

 

He turned away and glared down at the computer keyboard. After a while he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “This is the fight we should have had the other night, isn’t it?”

 

He heard the other man mutter something in Kryptonian and then indestructible arms wrapped around him and pulled him back against the hot hard shape of his mate. “Perhaps that was the weed and this is the root,” the alien muttered. “The source.”

 

“Perhaps…”

 

He felt his bond then; a single note inside him throbbing with contentment as the thick beautiful smell of his mate wrapped around him like a second pair of arms and the heat of his body soaked into him. It was small still but it was there and already stronger than it had been when he first noticed its existence. A small simple stirring strung between him and his chosen mate.

 

“I was phoning you,” he assured him softly.

 

“I know,” the man sighed. “I know. I trust you. I’m sorry.”

 

“I do love you.”

 

Again. “I know.”

 

He turned his head and looked back at the man behind him. “Will you talk to me now?”

 

Clark leant forward and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. “Will you let me do this my way?”

 

“Clark…”

 

“Please. I talked to Perry this morning.”

 

He frowned. “What did you say?”

 

“I am going to change my status at work to casual,” Clark said. “It means I’ll only have to work three days a week and I can rig it to happen around your heats. The bad part is I don’t get the same money, stories, or position. It’ll be like when I first joined the paper actually.”

 

Bruce was frowning. “Are you okay with this?”

 

“It’s… not ideal, I know, but I thought if I could do some independent journalism as well I’ll still be able to make ends meet and cover the stories I want to cover… mostly.”

 

“I could still buy it,” he offered.

 

Clark sighed. “What good would that do? You could let me keep my job but I’m still going to be the unreliable guy, the guy that everyone secretly knows sleeps with the boss, and without that paperwork rule someone could take advantage of the system. Plus Caste Rights would be at our throats for alpha favouritism. I don’t want that.” He smiled sadly. “It’s a good rule, really. It’s just… we’re a pretty special case. Superheroes and all.”

 

“It’s not fair,” Bruce heard himself snarl.

 

A low laugh. “I guess not.”

 

A long pause. “Will you be happy? Going backwards like that?”

 

“Honestly, Bruce, I thought I would have to walk. This is good. I don’t need to be the most famous journalist in the world. Lois can have that. I’ll just write the back pages and publish the more interesting stuff independently. It’ll be nice to write without restrictions.”

 

The cave lapsed into silence as Bruce digested this new information. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that Clark was sacrificing all he had worked for and earnt as a reporter for him. But, at the same time, he knew he couldn’t stop him. This was Clark’s life, Clark’s choice, and he needed to respect that. He hadn’t respected him enough lately.

 

He was bound to Clark in more ways than one; the hormonal addiction only a cord of wool taunt between them compared to the other, deeper, aspects of their partnership. He was tied to him as he was tied to his pack and despite all the rocks on the road they walked on he wouldn’t let their union be anything less than binding.

 

“I promise I’ll be better for you,” he muttered. “I will.”

 

Clark kissed him again, this time moving around to land it on his lips. “So will I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm wrapping things up pretty fast now. Loose ends be gone! I hope this whole thing made some vague amount of sense because that's the story more or less done. Stick around for the smut.


	19. Chapter 19

“Wider.”

 

Clark grinned lazily and slowly shifted on the carpet so his knees were further apart; showing himself and the action he performed with unembarrassed obedience.

 

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but a pressed pair of black pants and a shirt gaping open to show the washboard of muscle trekking down his chest. His tongue slid along the edge of his teeth, fingers absently stroked the bulge between his legs, and eyes shone with a familiar dark hunger. “Wider,” he said again.

 

Clark let his grin spread with his legs and tilted his head back submissively. He was naked, on his knees, and fucking into his fist in with a deliberately smooth roll of hip. He kept his hand still ensuring all the work was in the thrust; displaying himself even as he licked the alpha spiced saliva onto his lips; showing his partner how much he was enjoying this.

 

“Are you going to knot your hand for me?”

 

He shook his head.

 

Bruce rolled his shirt off his shoulders. “No?”

 

“I’m saving it,” he horsed. “For you.”

 

The omega lifted an eyebrow. “I haven’t said you’re topping me, Clark.”

 

“No,” he agreed, “you haven’t… yet.”

 

Eyes narrowed. “You’re getting cocky.”

 

“Nah,” he let his grin turn lopsided. “I’m just getting better at this.”

 

“At fucking?” Bruce said as he stood.

 

“At reading you,” he sighed. “I can… ah… tell when you just want sex… and when you want a knot.” He thrust pointedly into his palm. “You always look _hungrier_ when you want a knot.”

 

Spoken in a throaty baritone. “Do I?”

 

“Yeah… it’s all in the eyes.”

 

Bruce turned away from him, hooked his thumbs through the vacant belt loops in his pants, and dragged them down over the pointed shape of his hips. Clark watched with unmasked relish as his partner slowly, deliberately, exposed himself.

 

Bruce’s body was as complex and cunning as the man it belonged to; sure and strong yet secretly soft, slick, and sweet where it needed to be. Broad shoulders tapered down over a well muscled torso riddled with interlocking scars which in turn gave way to the taunt shape of his waist. His hips flared in silent testament to his omegahood, spine cut straight and sure down his back, and powerful thighs fell below the firm full shape of his arse.

 

From between those legs rose the intoxicating allure of his arousal; an airborne promise of warm welcoming wetness to be found in amongst the hard planes and panels of his body. Sweet but musky, like vanilla or a ripe mulled wine, but more potent and fiercely addictive. An impossible erotic blend that snared him as thoroughly as it always did. An aphrodisiac almost as deadly as the man himself.

 

“God, you’re beautiful.”

 

Bruce turned, revealing his erection standing at a slight seductive curve up away from his groin and jerked his head in a silent summon.

 

Clark didn’t need to be asked twice. He abandoned his spot on the floor and sped to Bruce’s side in a blur of motion. The omega’s hands immediately fell on his body, encircling and gripping him with bruising force as he leant forward to gnaw on his shoulder; the rough predatory action interrupted with a thirty flicker of tongue. They groped each other, held each other, until finally Bruce turned him, pushed him down onto the edge of the bed, and without breaking eye contact fell to his knees.

 

“Hey,” Clark blinked. “You don’t have to do that.”

 

“I want to,” the omega said as he reached forward and squeezed Clark’s cock. “I want to see how much you really want it.” A toothy smile. “I want to see if you can hold back your knot.” He licked his head.

 

“Bruce…”

 

“If you can come without knotting,” he purred, “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

 

Clark stared down at him, desire knotting messy in his gut, as the omega leant forward and effortlessly swallowed the length of his shaft. Bruce sucked him off the way he did everything else; precise, practised, and perfect. It was yet another art he had mastered, manipulated, and made his own.

 

Clark groaned and reached to thread a hand through his hair. Bruce caught his wrist and pinned it down onto the mattress. He released the base of his cock to repeat the motion on the other side, capturing Clark and holding him as he sunk forward to take him in deeper. It was the most gorgeously indecent thing he had ever seen. Bruce’s lips stretched tight around his shaft, face mounted with colour, and piercing blue eyes remained open and looking up at him in shameless challenge. As he descended he sucked hard and urgent on his base; gulping wantonly around his length.

 

Clark felt the hot ring of his hidden knot register the attention and with a groan forced himself to ignore it. It was hard. It was hard to bite back his knot even as Bruce teased it with his tongue, to swallow the reflex even as the air filled with the wanton promise of _omega_ , and to ignore one part of pleasure stemming from the organ between his legs while still relying on another. Because Bruce said come. He had to come without knotting.

 

Usually if an alpha ‘held back’ a knot it meant they didn’t thrust all the way inside a partner; instead holding their knot with a fist. To ‘not knot’ while less common was still doable. He did it a lot when he masturbated. It was a quicker way of coming and left less evidence if he was in a hurry. Alone and surrounded by his own scent it was easy. Here… was harder. Much harder.

 

He set his teeth and met Bruce’s stare; willing himself to win this game

 

Bruce watched him knowingly and with a muffled growl released one of Clark’s wrists to reach down around his hips and… Clark blinked in surprise as Bruce slid a finger into himself quickly followed by a second. He had never seen Bruce touch himself in that way before. Disregarding his behaviour during heats, Bruce didn’t play to the norms of his caste in the bedroom anymore than he did when dictating his pack. Not only did he like to dominate but he usually preferred Clark to pay more attention to his ‘front’ rather than ‘back’ despite obviously getting more pleasure from his omegahood than from his manhood. When they very first started having sex Bruce wouldn’t let him touch back there at all.

 

Clark didn’t question it. It was his body and that meant his rules. But why the sudden change in…oh.

 

As Bruce pleasured himself the smell of his natural slick trickling down his knuckles spiced the already tantalising omega allure with a fresh flush of licentious potential. The strong seductive _sexual_ scent of his mate mounted to assault Clark even as Bruce deep throated him with a scandalous amount of skill. Another layer to the omega’s challenge.

 

“Fuck I…” he gasped. “I think I’m…”

 

He felt Bruce lean forward, open his throat, and suck. Just that, the willing wanton expectation of the other man, tipped him over the edge. Clark closed his eyes as he came; panting the other man’s name, thrusting into his mouth, and wrestling with the wash of pleasure even as it flooded through him.

 

When it was over he blinked his eyes open and watched as Bruce slowly slid off his cock letting what he didn’t swallow spill over his lips and trickle down his chin. Mouth-wateringly messy, disgustingly delicious, and… so fucking good…

 

Steel blue eyes sunk to his penis and then flicked back to his face. “I’m impressed.”

 

Clark looked down at himself, at his spent and smooth member, and then pulled his mouth into a breathless grin. “Whatever I want?”

 

“Whatever you want,” Bruce confirmed and slowly rose to straddle him. The first two fingers on his right hand were wet and warm where they touched his skin.

 

“Kiss?” Clark quested breathlessly.

 

Bruce leant forward, crushed his lips to his, and pillaged his mouth with assertive unembarrassed greed. The taste of his own ejaculate mixed with the rich earthy musk of Bruce’s skin pooled along the edge of his tongue. It was dizzying, delicious, and all of it drove straight to his cock already twitching back into life beneath his mate. When Bruce reached between their bodies to seize him in a fist Clark groaned into his mouth and bucked into the folded palm of his partner.

 

Bruce growled, sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, and squeezed his cock suffocatingly tight.

 

Clark sank pliantly back into the kiss, drinking in the delicious display of dominance. It was perfect, Bruce’s level of control even as he let Clark dictate their actions was perfect; not openly overt but still keenly present like a hand resting gently at his throat. A thrilling, fascinating, facet of the man as much at odds with the stereotype of his caste as the powerful build of his unspeakably beautiful body and the harsh hungry way he kissed him now as they fell back against the bed.

 

Soon the sheets were twisted and damp beneath them, the air heavy with their interlocking scents, and bodies as hot as irons where they touched. Bruce’s scent mounted quickly as he consumed the saliva in his mouth; the hormonal exchange plus his bond triggering a rapid response that quickly had him grinding against Clark with a tortuously slow gyration of hip.

 

Clark rolled on top of him and broke their lips apart to shower small kisses across his chin and down onto his neck; mouthing and licking at the other man’s omega gland but not biting. Bruce usually only liked to be bitten once during sex and he was not so far gone as to waste the rush of that experience before they even got started. Besides, from what he knew and despite what was often depicted in pornography, being bitten wasn’t actually pleasurable for an omega. If bitten too hard the experience would actually, understandably, be painful. Unless Bruce explicitly offered he didn’t want to dampen the foreplay just to steal a little bit of the other man’s erotic addictive essence early.

 

“Can I suck you?” He asked instead, face pressed against the other man’s neck, and voice strained and breathless. “I want to suck you.”

 

Bruce mashed his lips back against Clark’s, arched against him, and tugged at his hardening cock one more time before he responded.

 

“Is that what you want?” His voice a low, tempting, baritone. “I thought you were after something else.”

 

“I…” he swallowed. “I think I…”

 

A dark, wet lipped, smile. “Do what you want, Clark.”

 

“Can I do… more than…?”

 

“Anything you want,” Bruce confirmed. “ _Everything_.”

 

He hesitated only a moment before diving through the liberal loophole and working his way down Bruce’s body; kissing, tasting, and stroking each scar he came across with the tip of his tongue. He made sure to scrape his teeth down Bruce’s sternum, lick each nipple, and suck a mark onto his hip, all the while looking up into the stark stare of the man he was treating.

 

Because, as cunning and complex as Bruce’s body was, Clark was figuring it out. Slowly, bit by bit, he was learning not just how to make Bruce orgasm but how to make him writhe, moan, snarl, or sigh. He was learning how to make him come loud, with a shout, or quiet with a breathless groan. He was learning how to make him come fast like he’d been struck by lightening, or slow so he rode it like he would a lazy wave in the ocean. He was learning how to make him come so he tensed around him, or so he unravelled into his arms. Slowly, surely, he was learning all the ways to make Bruce orgasm, all the sounds he could get him to make, and the faces… Piece by piece, he was mastering the art.

 

He took Bruce’s length into his mouth, gripped the round shape of his arse, and pressed his tongue firmly against the underside of the other man’s cock as he began to suck him. Bruce reached down, tangled a fist in his hair, and set the rhythm before surrendering control of the action over to him with a groan. It wasn’t long before he tasted the salty splash of pre-come and felt the telltale shiver run through Bruce’s body.

 

He withdrew, wrapped a hand around the flushed extension of the other man, and used his other to grasp a thigh and fold Bruce’s leg back. He dipped into the newly exposed territory to lick at his steaming wet entrance. The taste hit him hard and fast; like his scent but raw, heavy, and blatantly sexual. There was no romance in the flavour, no perfume or allure, jut the explicit primal need of Bruce’s body and the sweet intoxicating secretion of his omega hormones.

 

Omega males were lucky enough to be gifted with duel pleasure centres. This gave them the potential to climax not only twice but double. Of all the ways he had learnt to make Bruce come, the best was still at once; both through ejaculation and the more unique method of stimulating his more secretive and sensitive omega assets.

 

It wasn’t long before Bruce’s hands were fisted in the sheets, eyes crushed closed, and spine arching off the mattress. His breaths hissed through gritted teeth and heart hammered hard in his chest.

 

Clark pushed his tongue inside him and gulped greedily at the fresh flush of wet that poured out of the other man; gushing scorching hot against his lips, and trickled down his chin in beautifully burning rivers. He vibrated his tongue against the cluster of knotting nerves just inside his mate, fisted the man’s cock, and savoured the sounds of Bruce slowly but surely falling to pieces on the bed before him. So beautiful... Bruce rolled his hips back into Clark’s mouth as he came and Clark quickly stroked him the two and a half more times it took to trigger his other orgasm, choking off his groan and transforming it into a broken breathless moan.

 

“God Clark…”

 

He lapped up the fresh bounty flowing from between his partner’s legs and flashed him a wet smile.

 

“You taste so good.”

 

Bruce blinked and closed his eyes. “God…”

 

Clark slowly crawled up his body, hitching Bruce’s other leg up as he did so, and dipping down to taste the sweat on his skin. He was temporarily as boneless and pliant as he became in heat and didn’t comment as Clark hooked his legs high over his hips and moved them into alignment.

 

“Bruce?”

 

He blinked his eyes open. His pupils were blown, cheeks shining red, and bottom lip bleeding where he’d bitten it. "What?" He rasped.

 

“Can I?”

 

“Yes,” the omega nodded. “Fuck me.” He swallowed. “Knot me.” A ragged breath. “I want it.”

 

He rolled his hips obediently forward and slid into the tight ring of his mate. Bruce flinched but arched into him, taking him in deeper, and rolling his head to the side to expose his omega gland. Eyes opened to regard him with explicit expectation, formalising the invitation.

 

Clark leant forward and sunk his teeth into him as he began to thrust.

 

As always the taste of the other man’s neck consumed him. He fell with wanton willingness into the dizzying high the hormones had to offer, drank in the destructively sweet omega allure, and drowned in him rather than take a moment to breathe. As terrifying as flying into space for the first time and just as breathtaking. He pounded into his mate and gulped at the pheromones pouring off his neck for what could have been mere moments or hours of his life.

 

Bruce grunted at one particularly clumsy thrust, rolled them, and pulled away from Clark’s mouth as he rose to sit astride him. He blinked forlorn up at the fresh ribbon of tooth marks strung together against his neck and licked the excess saliva off his lips.

 

“You want more?” Bruce rumbled.

 

“No,” he lied. “That’s enough.”

 

A low growl. “Tell me the truth. You want more.”

 

His lips twitched into a smile. “Honestly, Bruce, I will always want more of you.”

 

The omega paused to regard him for a moment, grunted, and reached forward to seize the headboard in white knuckled fists. Muscles shivered, skin shone with a fresh sheen of sweat, and pulse pounded strong and sure in his neck.

 

Clark sprawled in a messy starfish and watched the omega ride him down into the mattress; movements proud, powerful, and painfully precise. Each roll of muscle was targeted, each backward thrust skilfully executed, and landing hard enough to rock the bed. All of it overshadowed by Bruce's gaze pinned onto him. The perfection of his movements and intensity of his stare disintegrated as they both neared climax.

 

Clark knew then, with sudden earth shattering clarity, how intrinsically unimportant a bond was. It was a bodily declaration of togetherness, an addiction, but it was also a fragile flimsy thing beside the love they had come to share. He wasn’t bonded to Bruce, he was still a long way away from that, but he was already tied to him in ways that bound him tighter than any hormonal addiction ever could. He loved him and, he swore, he would never be so stupid as to let what had come between them last week do so again. He had his work, Bruce had his pack, but they both had each other and beyond that simple truth, nothing else seemed unconquerable.

 

Clark came first and Bruce collapsed forward with a strangled gasp as his knot swelled and pushed him over the brink after him. Pleasure washed over him with debilitating force; stemming like a flower from his groin and spreading throughout his entire body. A blitz of earth shattering satisfaction thrumming from their join and fed by the sounds of their shared orgasm. He blinked as the haze passed, pulled Bruce properly against him, and wiped away some of the drying semen still smeared across his partner’s cheek.

 

Knotting face to face wasn’t as comfortable for a male omega as spooning. Bruce, however, often dictated them into the position when tied. Clark didn’t know if the other man preferred to be able to hold as well as be held, if he liked the easy opportunity to kiss when they were together, or if there was some other reason for the preference but, whatever it was, he was grateful. He was grateful because there was nothing as simply disarming as looking straight into Bruce’s eyes when they were tied and telling him he loved him.

 

The omega looked up at him as he spoke but didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. He just looked at him, kissed him, and fell asleep against him… and that was so much more than anything he could have said.

 

So much more than words could create.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! You have, once again, been an utterly incredible audience and thanks so much for the feedback, the motivation, and for sticking with me right to the (very smutty) end. If there are any parting words you would like to share with this story now is the time to do so.
> 
> I'm going to be taking a brief break from writing for a while to try and get my head clear and wade through some of this university work that's piling up at my door. That said I am still very much enjoying this universe and, if you guys are keen, am willing to write another story along the lines of this one and 'In the Dark'. I have briefly discussed with some of you the possibility of doing a sequel dealing with MPreg. Is that something people are keen on? Or is there something else you would like to see? I'm not making any promises here but I would love to hear any suggestions if you have them. I am very much a community writer.
> 
> Thanks again, you guys are all amazing, and I really hoped you enjoyed this story as much as I did. :)


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